#66

Tangled dignity
weighs willows

in November,
drastic thinning of leaves.

Gravel jitters
from an uncommon quarry blast.

Crunchy grass clings to life
around the browning scene.

——
First draft posted on 11/3/11,
originally entitled #66

Stream 4

A tapioca polar bear approached me Easter morn
and told me I had leverage within this golden arch.

I took the time to recognize that polar bears can’t talk,
but this one shrugged and passed me by, aware that I would trail.

So he and I approached a cave, uncommon in that place.
He bade me: “sit and light a fire, your thumbs are magical”.

I laughed and got some kindling out, but lit the tinder first.
He went into a hiding place and found his finest catch.

We ate like kings; I let him have the lion’s share of fish.
“My stomach’s smaller than my hands, and not as magical.”