"How did you torment him?" I demand.
His face is huge: an icewall chin calving
berg-hair; each cheek a flat tundra,
fellfield pockets grey in the chill -
his eyecaves could house nations.
And as he smiles, I follow his mechanics -
oil and shape, twist and form, evolve
a frosted fret of recollections tight
across his blue lip. "You should ask
the one who supplied my design, perhaps?"
He talks in gusts of air released
from glaciers - a slow whisper of gas
recalling the histories of the world.
"I charted the story of his message
and watched him scream, scream, scream!"