In a careful examination of personal and collective histories David Keplingers Iceamp160indexes the findings from memoryamp8217s slow meltstories and faces weamp8217ve forgotten bones hidden in frost.I am asking how much more I have to learn from this Keplingeramp160writes. amp8220You are asking that same question.amp8221 In these poems he turns to our predecessors for guidance in picking apart the forces that govern modernityamp8212masculinity power knowledge conquest. Cryptic visitants arrive in the form of Gilgamesh amp8220searching for a way to stay in pain foreveramp8221 a grandmother mending socks amp8220her face in the dark unchangingamp8221amp160Emily Dickinson lingering at her window a lion cub asleep in ice for millennia.With each comes a critique of the Anthropocene our drive to possess the unpossessable. With each comes also the discovery of whatamp8212and whoamp8212weamp8217ve harmed in the discovering. Ice shelves collapse. Climate change melts layers of permafrost to reveal a severed wolfamp8217s head. A pair of greasesmudged reading glasses calls up a motheramp8217s phantom. amp8220I am sorry for the parts you gave me that Iamp8217ve misshapenamp8221amp160Keplingeramp160writes.Soamp160is there amp8220a point to all this singingamp8221 Our ancestors cannot answer. The wolfamp8217s head canamp8217t either. But sometimes amp8220out of the snow of confusionamp8221amp160somethingamp160answers amp8220saying gorgeous things like yes.amp8221 And the flowers amp8220open up their small green trumpets anyway.amp8221