Persistence
Step right up to the brink of things committed long ago; a dock worn thin by salt and wind, a sea that howls below, a vacant corner of the world few modern maps betray, where sunset tones of Kodak gold give soviet decay a romance it may not deserve, as cemeteries swell with scattered names of mountain folk who tamed this northern hell, and made a home of it, and still, if raised defend their lot, while we the living blithely gauge what’s worth it and what’s not.