Any altitude not found in the set

Of altitudes of the world.  A gap in the mountain as cloud

As mirage in the cold desert glittering

Pages of travel magazines.  Peacetime sweep.  To input correct

Errors into a twelve-&-a-half-thousand foot

Computer system of air, called data collapse.  That logged

Some twenty-thousand Novembers before I

Crash directly into the paper

-white path.  There was no training given for

Disintegration.  Just networking.  Fuselage meet skin

& white slopes of Mt Erebus & wrecking

Slopes of economic/statistical power laws.  We get

A prototype for snow.  Tender

Predecessor of hyperexcited

Tissue on impact.  This recycling this lifecycle.  No.

Just the right amount of widespread order

To keep disorder, balanced at critical;—enough

Little hourglass tumbles every so

Often to stave off the really big downward tails.  So flight left

With tickets for empty seats.  Business as usual. Aluminium burning

Warship on the side of a volcano in the Antarctic. The only game

In town.
It was usual for no survivors to be seen

Camping in wing wreckage—quick to assemble wind

& guywire piles of snowy sand.

The orchestrated remains are meticulous

In their record keeping;—tissue immaculately detailed no matter

What dusty vapour or drenching fire isolated it.

In the language of thermodynamics Information survives

Like cockcroaches crawl through nuclear war like static is always

Seething . . . Fuselage of human grease turns

The little water of this dry ice earth black.  Meat stew

Of polar clothing, and gulls help at identifying corpses

When radar lets them down

—lowers macabre iron cargo nets to remove the human element.

Unfazed.  A crash site whipped up in no time (in parentheses)

Always already prepared earlier . . . suitable for the uncertain.

The pedestal more famous than

The person—the ice as good

As ignoring all search-&-rescue efforts.