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8
Feb
2019
The numbing cold that has swathed most of Canada during February prompted my mind to wander into uncharted territory.
Cold slithers down
from the far side of 60 degrees, latitude.
When it’s that cold,
when tears turn into salt hailstones
when spit ricochets,
the scale doesn’t matter.
But even a polar vortex
retains measurable warmth.
Heat itself ceases
at absolute zero —
on the Kelvin scale, minus 273.15 Celsius —
a temperature beyond which
there is no beyond.
Categories: Poetry
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