Pytheas passed it by,
off to the ultimate
fog-drift.
Whales shriek, sad in the sound,
heralds of ice inching in valleys
above mud’s bubble and mustering tremble,
great with the gush of the geyser-thrust,
raking roots ripened in fire
till Helgafel halts and humps,
waits, waits.
Pytheas sailed,
sailed and rowed
to the
end of the world
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