afieldnotebook

Spring

Somewhere
---a black bear
------has just risen from sleep
---------and is staring

down the mountain.
---All night
------in the brisk and shallow restlessness
---------of early spring.

I think of her,
---her four black fists
------flicking the gravel,
---------her tongue.

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.

-Mary Oliver, 1990

This one's for dad, who thought that one poem about the dog was by Mary Oliver, when actually it was by Jane Kenyon. So here's a Mary Oliver one (last time I posted Mary Oliver, it was for mom, and almost two years ago). This one's also for the bear that came down the mountain last week, upturned the bird feeder and the compost bin, and left dusty footprints on the front porch.