Composed
A bear’s world begins
with her body: self-contained,
neither bold nor shy, she forages
without fear, rakes the thorny thickets
of blackberries, rips open
yellow jacket nests, scoops larvae
from the papery hexagonal cells.
In wet sand or earth, pressed deep,
the smooth cups of her tracks
hold light, collect rain water, shimmer
with her presence long after
she has wandered upriver
searching for salmon.
Winter Solstice
Here, where shore pines cling
to the cliffs, where waves pound sea stacks
and wind mingles salt spray and rain,
the wrentits wait out winter storms
tucked deep in the thickets of salal,
coyote brush, and huckleberry.
Pressed close for warmth,
their two hearts beat in unison,
an ecstasy of feathers.
And far upriver where rain falls
so fast it is its own thicket,
and Panther Creek swells and spills
into the Elk, the water ouzel flies
underwater and emerges singing,
each note winding higher, dancing
like a violin above the bass
of river tumbled stone.
Joy the wild hearts of the wrentits beat,
Joy illimited sings the water ouzel.
Joy to be bird and not to want spring,
not to want anything but to live here,
on this rocky coast in winter wind and rain.
Unwavering
Here, where wind blows upriver
fingering the water’s silks,
and willow leaves shimmer
green white green white
like eyes opening and shutting
in the sun; here, where dragonflies
skim on transparent wings
and the merganser herds
her brood of ducklings
into an eddy; here
it is impossible not to say
the wild is tender.
Look: caddisflies walk under water
in gem-studded sheathes.
Needle thin fish flash between pebbles
in the shallows. A spotted sandpiper
scrapes a nest in gravel.
And mid-winter when the river
floods, topples firs from hillsides,
jams logs against boulders, breaks
the willow’s fingerhold on cobble,
is the wild not tender?
If the sun’s gentlest touch
on a willow leaf is not love,
if the river’s hardest thrust
of water on rock is not love,
if to set down roots, wind deep
in cobble, clutch stone,
withstand flood, bend and whirl
then spring free of the water’s grasp
is not love, what is?
Look: wind turns willow leaves
in the sun, green white green
white green, and the caddisfly slips
from its underwater casque,
spreads four diaphanous wings,
unfolds in sunlight.