For Jim.

In quiet thoughts

The Bear 

as i die   again and again
my blood killed by chemicals they call therapy
i miss our cuddle   his warm furry kiss
naughty tongue
smell of sweet sweat
glint of strength in his bright eyes
things he cannot do wrong

remember the picture of the rising sun
through the snaky circle of  the anhingas neck

and drift into the hypnogogic dream of the meadow and the bear

big ole grizzly lumbers from the aspen birch and plum
a cub bouncing sometimes behind         in the scent of strength     security
sometimes ahead         turning and watch for glaring eyes and grunts of disapproval

the big one tasting meadowberries           old eyes seeing mostly memories
feeling the sun more slowly each day
unable to chase now the trout
but always sniffing under opaque gaze

the cub         without the time for food
chasing butterflies and nipping flowers
hepatica and rue         poppies and celandine
pausing in mid-flight to see trouble was calling him back

each day the pattern was the same
until one  day         beyond the lake
beyond the alders   rushweeds   beautybushes
he could not see or sense approval
he forgot the carefree dance and raced across the apron of the pond
to find the giant that tethered him to the ground
which had once stood and roared and fought the wolves
saw strength and confidence stumbling    staggering    grumbling
falling to the ground
until
all
sound
stopped

wind blew like winter shrivelling the flowers and butterflies

he sniffed and nudged and did not know this thing that did not see the sky
had nothing more of light in eyes
nothing left to call him back

he swallowed a whimper unheard by ghosts of insects and bright violets
until light ran liquid from the sky


from the cave that was once so familiar        alive and powerful
lumbering himself and never bouncing like a cub
he returned to the field
where a scar grew upon the ground
smelling strange of memories

until one day there was nothing left to remind
where confidence strength and curiosity was anchored

after the long sleep he rose on his legs to smell the day
to remember where he had to go
but did not remember what he sought
he saw the myriad of flowers bursting from the hidden scar
and tasted once again berries he had known before

but never chased again the butterflies
which had carried something to the clouds

the cub was not seen again in the meadow
but was safe from the wolves
for then he carried the scent of a very big bear