A black bear sits alone <br />in the twilight, nodding from side <br />to side, turning slowly around and around <br />on himself, scuffing the four-footed <br />circle into the earth. He sniffs the sweat <br />in the breeze, he understands <br />a creature, a death-creature, <br />watches from the fringe of the trees, <br />finally he understands <br />I am no longer here, he himself <br />from the fringe of the trees watches <br />a black bear <br />get up, eat a few flowers, trudge away, <br />all his fur glistening <br />in the rain. <br /> <br />And what glistening! Sancho Fergus, <br />my boychild, had such great shoulders, <br />when he was born his head <br />came out, the rest of him stuck. And he opened <br />his eyes: his head out there all alone <br />in the room, he squinted with pained, <br />barely unglued eyes at the ninth-month's <br />blood splashing beneath him <br />on the floor. And almost <br />smiled, I thought, almost forgave it all in advance. <br /> <br />When he came wholly forth <br />I took him up in my hands and bent <br />over and smelled <br />the black, glistening fur <br />of his head, as empty space <br />must have bent <br />over the newborn planet <br />and smelled the grasslands and the ferns.<br /><br />Galway Kinnell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lastness/
