Ferrying

Say goodbye
to the fiddlehead
fern and the common
rose, to the seas
beginning to boil
like cauldrons set
on stoves. The sky
heaves, hot metal
sheet buckling
at the edges.
No waterfalls
of ice can cool
the flames, and yet
the orcas will take
turns ferrying
their dead. No one
has seen anything
like it: Remarkable,
they say. Why is that
the word they use?
How can a parent not
grieve for a child
taken before its time?

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