some bears wake in winter
to snow and stone –
too soon and alone
a dense isolate against the gray
I imagine the great shaking
of sleep from fur –
the unconsidered solitude
the dark, inviolate grace
the huff and shudder
of breath and muscle –
and then the moving forward
into pale emptiness
of necessity, resolute
© Sarah Whiteley
sometimes, between the long span
of months in which I do not
think of you at all,
I briefly consider calling you up
to ask you along for a hike
for a moment, not thinking how
having you there would so alter
the trail, that what lies before
would amount to steadfast avoidance
of what should be left behind
sometimes I consider calling you,
but let’s leave it there –
leave it as we would a sleeping bear
without the thaw of spring to shake
the old frosts from her fur
© Sarah Whiteley
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