PENGUIN MACHO FOR SILVIA
            Nelson Miller
                c. April 2000
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For two months in the black Antarctic night,
the Emperor stands still above the egg
that is his sole concern; his movements slight,
he warms in it the pouch above his leg
against the dark and metal-splitting chill
of polar winter; there he holds, erect,
unheeding hunger, as the ice-shelf's shrill
cold-razored winds slash him to no effect.
One wonders if, throughout his frigid stand,
he dreams of northward, light-danced seas his mate
drives through to feed and flourish far from land.
No matter--_here_ he keeps his watch in state.
The Southern Cross moves round the ice's rim;
there are still weeks until its stars grow dim.


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