Most bears we’ve known have blown this scene:—upstream,
as though to locate such cold springs as they
prefer. Our cries of “We can wait!” may glance
off canyon walls. In spite of plans we’ve made.
Toss back a couple cold ones, and salute
sunflowers… Now, where is that Holy Ghost?
Is this too soon to swim laps in the pool
below the falls? It’s almost Father’s Day.
Let’s hope so, otherwise I’m way behind,
workout-wise, my last mountain still unclimbed,
and yet, to grow expansive in the light
of such a cool, waxing moon may mean that
clouds we have failed to name may soon appear
unbidden—cumuliform, stratiform,
still others—so much of what’s left undone
hurts only losers, guys whose lame excuses
are poorer than ours.—With some screws loose,
let’s threaten to change the world, rework old tunes
we’ve come to love, if not exactly like.
Here in the Great Unseen, life’s very strange.
Our characteristic “twinkling, gliding flight”
takes us only so far. Edge of the sea.
You slept so quietly tonight
I felt alarmed at our mortality.
*For Nina, Eli, Courtney, & Phoebe*
VI.13.2014