it’s occupied,
every inch of ground these woods i see out my window
“ no vacancy “
the sign reads in sound
day and night
each has its
resident revelers,
takers and talkers
spending all to be spot on
even a spotted owl i’ve spotted squatted
branched with a territorial view
i know saying you’ve seen ‘em
makes loggers crazy,
like drunken sailors standing bandy legged pan handed saying,
“ how dare they?
let me at em! “
but they must’ve heard too
from being in the woods
so long without reason
the tale told by the old indian
that we were taught by the bear how to eat
so we
eat
and we
eat
we eat all that we see
the tale relating as it goes
speaks that in greed feeding
it happened we didn’t heed the cycle of nothing
the ancestors would repeat;
“ to hibernate
is to cultivate
the art of deep sleep “
so it’s the end then, we just won’t make it
unless we
change
face
to eat like the
fox
or coyote
which means
we’d no longer be masters
just brothers
to the bear, the raven, and others
calling, crawling, sprawling, like buildings are falling
a choking of cities screaming in season greeting, the small woods always speak
just outside, down the road,
the world beyond
your streets
