Friday, September 21, 2012

The Bear Stick

Walking, gripping
a carved stick
with a totem bear,
glaring back at me,
This is the way,
this path worn through
the red rock canyon
where the smoke settles,
where the mist mixes in.

Our women drummers
still softly sleeping
through this dawn
but in my bones,
my dry seeded rattle,
counts the days
I have left to walk
this dream, careless
in my animal brain.
So amazing how much
we achieve, how bad
we are, how astonishing
these animals, how little
we matter, how we are
everything.

1 comment:

  1. This just might be one of my favorite poems EVER. I so love it, the walking, the thoughts and, especially, the closing lines. WOW!

    ReplyDelete

willamette writers

willamette writers

Blog Nation Badge

Poets United