First trek up the mountain
Dodging snow banks
Assessing winter’s toll


Observing exposed undulations
Curves and formations
Hidden when the aspen leaves
Come on


No sign of the bear
I know she’s gone
One of three highway-killed
Last summer


The marks of her cubs
Scored into the bark
A forever reminder
Of when the bear lived here


She looks good, the mountain
I am her guardian and she is mine
Reverence at spring thaw
Devotion steadfast and abiding


Birdsong and tender shoots
White shafts of the aspen
Standing at ready
Turning to spring at alpine


Waiting and ready

Hot tea and lemon
Before the sun comes up
Resetting my mind to
Poetry mode


Because I like it there
It brings me peace
Solace in the day


I don’t want to
Live in prose anymore
It hasn’t worked


It’s left me stiff
And anguished
I choose poetry
Though few others do


I want the magic hours
At sunrise, sunset
I want the words
Sparse and pristine


I want to start
Each morning with
Word-song


Fire cracking in the stove
And hot tea
In my belly

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