Somewhere a black bear has just risen from sleep and is staring
down the mountain. All night in the brisk and shallow restless of early spring
I think of her. her four black fists flicking the gravel. her toungue
like a red fire touching the grass, the cold water. There is only one question:
how to love this world. I think of her rising like a black and leafy ledge
to sharpen her claws against the silence of the trees. Whatever else
my life is with its poems and its music and its glass cities,
it is also this dazzling darkness coming down the mountain, breathing and tasting,
all day I think of her - her white teeth, her wordlessness, her perfect love.