On the burned out island,
new trees shiver optimistic next to charred, stark trunks.
Morning stillness.
Paddles whispering through clear water.
In the dappled brush, a hole --
solid, black as night.
Except for the unbroken blue of the sky,
everything in this reviving forest is dotted, stippled, variegated.
Aspens quake and shudder.
Branches cross-hatch the green.
Even solid bedrock has a face overgrown with lichen.
Ambling up the white rock face,
the dark shape becomes bear:
round ears on a sleek head turning to watch us watch.
He breaks free of brush and fear,
strolls the ridgetop pigeon-toed and big as you please.
Against the northern morning blue sky,
he is an onyx bead in a bowl of turquoise.
He is pure shadow
interrupting the searing brightness of sun on water.
The night inside me remembers his darkness all day,
no matter how fiercely the sun burns above my head.
© Barbara McAfee
Please contact Barbara for permission to use poem -
(612) 840-9255
