Bears

We are bears in the den. The snow mounts

at the entrance, the sky peers through —

how warm. Listen to the breath of the cave. My body is a rock. The stones could be lungs, your shifting, the spin around the sun

or the desire to sleep. I love you: the known and favored ground where we rest.

We wake, our bones ready.

I figured no less for something

like morning, it simply surrounds us,

flavors the thoughts that remembers

where we are, scents the whole feeling

when I see with my eyes you are with me, too.

Our feet are beneath us.

Every tree is a day.

Each branch is fur down my back. Of course you know about having such splendid hands — better than even midnight or bark.

To you, I bequeath speed and never a reason to use it.

So much body to satisfy;

you are amazing there in the river

with your center of gravity so low.