Bear, Passing through, Thinks about Her

I see her on the porch,

turned to a statue

at the sight of me.

I pretend I don't notice her.

It's better that way.

She would love me

if I let her.

Unthinkable, of course,

her small hands in my fur

when she knows nothing

of me or my life.

It's the idea of me

she's charmed by.

She will tell everyone

I came to her—

not exactly true,

but no matter.

I'll be far away.

She can say what she wants.

I am lonely, hungry,

and enter the woods in my

endless searching.

Once hidden, I look back.

She has not moved,

stares at where I disappeared.

She is more lonely than I am

but has nothing to offer.

And as for me, letting her see me

is the only gift I have to give.

how the sun gleamed

on my glossy coat,

the loose-limbed, flowing

way I moved—

not afraid,

not hurrying.