My dreams are now full of snow encrusted ice Over which I walk, alone, Making slow progress toward absolute north. I have several more miles to cover Before my quota for the day will be complete. While the constant wind no longer frightens me, The crunch of my boots on the ice Brings to mind the desecration of a church Or the smashing of discarded animal bones And the loose snow simply disconcerts me. I am ill-equipped for such a journey, And I have little idea For how long I can continue. Yesterday, walking along the beach, The wind did not bother me, (Although it made the return journey Much harder than the outward leg). But the loose sand blowing quickly Across the surface of the beach Worries me for a reason I cannot define. It made me wonder how we looked From a distance, distracted figures Walking through a river of sand, Slowly progressing through wilderness. I feel the pole is approaching But my supplies are low And the prognosis is bleak. The ice floes still enchant me Though my toes are frostbitten. Yet I still might discover that isolation Is not a product of the arctic ice, I cannot leave behind When the journey is complete. In the darkness the motorway lights blur, The car knows it is being driven too fast The crash barrier is the only constant As the numbers of the roads And the names on the signposts Are always changing. Spray from lorries disconcerts me: The pole is not far but it cannot be reached.