Tag: bear

Bear. Round, black bear.
Your coat is deep, heavy.
It ripples when you run.
Thick, liquid waves.

Maybe while you sleep in your den,
my friend,
black bear.
May I come inside to nap?
May I call you friend?

Will you wrap your protective arm around me?
Shield me from January, 
black bear?
Warm me until the sun rises?

Auburn rays peek over the pines and into your den,
black bear,
and they kiss your silky sleepy face.
Rainbow colors from the sun,
lavender luster, an oil slick on black water.

While you dream, I hide my face in your coat, 
black bear.
All of my face,
after I wash it with Ivory soap
and dry it with a crunchy sun-dried towel.

My fresh right cheek,
nestled into your chest, 
black bear.
You smell like winter’s air and peeling birch bark.
I inhale you, breathe in your clean, wild fur.

Your baby’s waking,
black bear.
It is almost time.
but I linger still,
ready myself,
dawdle and postpone my leave.

You begin to stir so I have to go,
back to the cold, human Earth.
I leave the simplicity of you.
The protection of you,
my friend, 
my black bear.