I just might miss the uneasy quiet

that curls up in Winter, freezing everything that moves

In that quiet is a warm sort of chaos

of bears that merely rest under holes in the ground

not in caves far away like we all wish they would

We wish them far from us

all the while hoping they could stay forever

to dot the landscape with their rich browns and blacks and blondes

They come when we don’t want them

They come when we’re scared and cold

They come when we’re too full of rambling thought to wish them away

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"... all my lovers were there with me, all my past and futures."

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