Beyond the spectral depths
of Pele’s throat
lies a sensory deprived world
where summer winters
and days dim long into the night,
where winds sculpt ice into waves
and absolute silence screams,
cultivating a lingering insanity–
irrelevance in a place where all
lines of longitude meet and
the earth doesn’t move–a place of
eternal white out where
it is easy to believe that something
lives in the winds,
breathing the fire of cold air.
Prompt: First Year a da Rat Writing Contest Prompt for January 2021