Bear at Solstice

Quickened with fall's hunger,

I slept the long night.

Again in the cold dark

The miracle comes, creation

Rooted in the sunless cave.

At solstice,

Self-consumed in winter's cold,

Wakened from slumber by the mewing child,

I blink, surprised by joy.

Drowsing, dreaming the berried spring,

I take the babe to my warm breast.

My tongue carves limbs, carves ears and head,

Shapes belly taut with milk.

So it comes again, the miracle:

A child is born;

We shape it to our need.

–December, 1994