Supplying the Bear
So that is what it looks like to listen
to not only the piano keystrokes,
a feeling every sounds wavelength evokes,
my spirit sails, a voyage to christen.
Outside the snow has been falling for hours,
the echo of each snowflake, silenced, hushed,
still, after a week of being nursed
down from Olympus without our powers,
to supply the bear with warm chicken soup,
to watch the bear drift into rhythmic grooves,
to perform wild improvisations,
before the long sleep in this winter coop
where most the winter the bear hardly moves,
a last meal to avoid starvation.
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