Approaching Form

On four hooves

you stood in grace

nibbling the green

quiet glory of morning.

Veiled in dawn’s thin

mist, I almost missed you

for the shadow upon

the aspen tree and the

piney scent thick upon

the wind. When our eyes

met, you stayed your soul,

resisted the gut-flinch bolt,

rather pulling  tender

grass roots from the soft

black earth. A shred of night

lingered in dawn’s light,

and in it you stood

unflinching, leaning into

the silver curtain that

separated us. We exchanged

glances. A splintered

perception passed between

us—two living beings.

You on the run through

wooded mountain forests

and sparkling streams

seeking sustenance

and harmony, well

equipped with roughed

and exquisite portion.

And I, running back

to the city to bear up

under concrete, steel,

and glass—equally

equipped to reflect

glory that is not mine.

I know what it’s like

relentlessly to calculate

and test.

Is the approaching

form in the mist a

friend or foe? The sun

beating down by high

noon on all craving creatures

wild or tame.

~Bonnie Saul Wilks, Estes Park, Colorado, June 1, 2011