a black bear–
not a cub
but not full-grown,
descends the bank
toward the lake’s edge.
notices us.
stops.

stares as we motor
closer.      turns.
scampers
into thick woods.

nights I inhale
a glimpse
of wildness
prowling the edge
of dreams–
no panda
munching bamboo
no Asian bear
with healing powers
but a Stygian fur phantom
lumbers on all fours
tries to possess me.

I nest deep
into my quilt,
will it to flee,
to find old growth
and delight–
undistracted by humans.

somewhere it can’t frighten me