The Black Bear

The forest floor stirs and speaks
In leaves and bark, it hums
Something familiar, but drifts
Away as if it forgot even itself.

It is lifted light on air
Burst across a soughing sky,
In my dreams, at least,
In my dreams, it was a train
That pulled into the station
And you got off,

I was so pleased to see you.

It leans the notes of its wakening
On wings to reach the lofts of trees
Pointing to the sky and all branches
Swing their rough lines, signposts
To the river where the steel salmon
Flow fast as if they were arrows
Fired with a glint from their fertile eyes,
Deprivation will usher the sleepy, dip
Clumsy into the rush, plucking
The unlucky from a crowd
Like a pickpocket, the black bear
In my dreams, at least,
In my dreams, the bear carries
The universe upon her back
And her eyes show the burden,

Will throw off the cobwebs of winter
And rattle, aged, on the raw and breathing
Flesh of Spring, the fresh, cool of a stone.