A gray-black storm lies low, above the sea.A 78 mile per hour windchill shatters anywater into icebergs, as I drown in my own element.Rustling waves rolling me back to this massivebreakup outside and in. It glides past me blue-green,blue-turquoise, collisions of pinnacles and pressurepoints, which pinch. Volcano ash, radiation andchemo ruin the physical. Old frozen cliffs, hoarfrostlungs, clefts of monastic bergs adrift. I cough, coughup bowels of human limits of sanity, sounds of galewinds rifting the clapboard house I call home, as mylungs carry my brain; carry my heart, and innards,hands and feet; I hand palm the distance of sky and light.                                                                                 Cut Yukon salmon                                                                                 In my eyes, the river flows                                                                                 The scent of burnt birch