Apocalypse
The Age of ICE is Sometimes our community shapes our politics; sometimes our politics shapes our community. And every now and then, what it shapes is dark. This one isn’t an argument or an analysis — it’s a poem, written to sit with one of those colder moments, when the usual words felt too small. The sky did not fall at once.It hardened.Clouds learned the weight of stone,and rain forgot how to be water. Cities went quiet the way glass goes quietafter it shatters—still present,but no longer forgiving to bare feet. We called it winter at first,as if names could