A bear creeps
In the coldest of regions
Perhaps
Too far North for one to see,
Visually
Yet far enough
South to tuck under a mountainous fog
It thinks it’s hidden
With pale coat
And proud strides
Behind the protective cloak
Of blurred distance
With a confounding grumble
The bear strokes the embers of
A smoldering pile of sticks
But it has been seen
And felt
Like blood rushing to the head
After a jolt up
Towards the suns stretching limbs.
The beast has been known
For many years
Many, many years
Many, many lives
Though this one incarnate
Has left a sloppy trail of muddy paws prints
Across the back upon which
I’ve carried its memory.
Stupid bear.
Stupid, stupid bear.
