Dear wide, comforting
McMurdo Sound.
The beautiful nowhere.
Perennial comforts high above.

Here is cold Ross Dependency.
Here is Erebus.
Surface landmarks:
hawk moth mirage
--malevolent trick
of the polar light.

Orphans of the sky.
First impressions in the snow.
Mountain tomb, angels sing.
Coffins full of ice.

They say the smell of kerosene
never leaves you,
and that on a clear day you can
still see the debris.

Just one month ago, you were walking around.  
But now you're dead and buried in the ground.
So much can change in just the blink of an eye.
You went too soon, forty-eight was too young to die.
Forty years ago in 1979, we became friends.
I wish that your life hadn't come to an end.
On the 3rd day of June, you took your final breath.
You overdosed on drugs and it caused your death.
Because you were a drug user, you didn't survive.
Drugs eventually ****, that's why you're no longer alive.