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.

Until,
emerging above the mist
the trail was clear

and beside a deadfall,
there were the eyes:

fixed upon the backtrail
and upon my own;
vacant,
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

and

kneeled.

waiting for eternity.