Inspired by Mary Oliver’s poem titled Hunter’s Moon–Eating the Bear
Dearest one,
Dearest one,
it is still in the morning.
The leaves and cones of the cedar are unchanging on their branches.
When you look,
I am to turn and wallow in the pools that are your eyes.
My gaze, swimming through your pupils and irises,
elicits a salty secretion.
I trace your tears and assure the sun it is not at fault for your melting.
Dearest one,
When my thumb brushes the corner of your eye
I spare the lichens below from a saline shower.
My finger now glistens with your soul, your vibrance.
I cannot know from where your tears arise.
Maybe only the cedars in their calm observations can find that origin.
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