Despite the threat of better judgment,
Another month, another human marker,
Was coming to an end. Oh, how we complain
What time has done to us, and yet we use it
Continually for target practice. What shall I
Have done, have done to or for me by then?
We asked ourselves of every date invented.
Hello I must be going, said the sun,
As exceptional summer heatwaves lingered.
Can't you see I'm burning, burning away?
Beside a preserved patch of never-logged
Cedars, signs reminded visitors that the trail
Was closed, October to May. Those trees
With their huge, half-hollowed lower trunks
Were favored bear dens. No bears loitering
Nearby at the end of July, all out foraging,
Answering the relentless cry of their guts
That alone could prepare them for winter.
Such useful things, calendars! How orderly
They made the urgency of living seem, how
They tidied the lights and the clouds stealing
Over us, away from us, and all of us. There
Was a bear in the woods, went one cliche.
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