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Poem

It is true that bears love honey
Because sight can tell such plain desire
But the solution is not money
For every need. Some things are finer
Deeper, sweeter, or more gold
The lyre's song flooding flesh and soul.
Seems bears shivers not in cold
But go to sleep only at the torrid pole.

If you could find a mind to think
To know a bear is mortal, and so a man
If you walk back from the brink
Of doubt, or step back from sinking sand
To explore again your deep fear
The reason you shuddered standing there
I would speak so the blind hear,
Write so the deaf may see the chasm here.

It is not a cave, but lair of bees
Humming through my sleep's longing, joy
Prodding hives in rotten trees
Tongue sucking dreams without the cloy
Of heart, where flesh finds limit
In fragrant flower bed of frolicking spirit.
Not for honey then I endure it
But for the songs sizzling and the love of grit.

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