This is the dance of no hard feelings, deranged sonnet constructed to resemble a paper Valentine. All morning the mother animal refused to nurse the baby animal. Call it a mongoose, seal, or sea urchin, birthed on wind-whipped horizons stacked with travelers’ skulls. I don a red woolen cap, keep going. The arctic elements hurl insults before relenting. The crowd’s collective sullen face: dust on a spiral staircase made of frozen water, or gold.