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
