Saturday, March 3, 2012

Old Griz

This time the old bear set off straight to the top.
Every year before,
it was a crooked trail.

Deep snow slowed us both,
and fog blurred the day;

my eyes
and my spirit.

emerging above the mist
the trail was clear

and beside a deadfall,
there were the eyes:

fixed upon the backtrail
and upon my own;
seeing well beyond
a remnant dream
and my shadow in the evening sun.

I reached for a cold foot
in a shivering embrace,
cold, now, in a slight breath
stirring stunted needles
on ancient brush



waiting for eternity.

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