Friday

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I have seen a bear, moving in a rolling run
across the road, into the meadow,
then up over the hillside.

The world became bear in that moment.
A world made by bear for bear: berry-filled,
fish-filled, cave-filled.

There were no other bears:  papa, baby or momma.
There were no beds:  small or big.
There were no little girls:  probably around seven and blond.

There was only bear and in that moment....

before I was returned metaled carapaced fossilfueled, mine yours theirs they say: alltogethernow despite individual proficiencies in late Stridberg and early Bergman from whose works the thrice-bedded, double-parented grimm folkworks girl also porridged and wheyed...


a bear, moving in a rolling run....