two bears, no longer
rightly called cubs,
move upon the earth,
awkwardly fierce
with only vestiges
of cute.
their paths wander apart,
then together, and out
again.
one follows the other,
but not too close, not
obviously close.
that one has gotten up
in a tree, seeing far,
not entirely sure about
getting down.
this one, at a stream,
pretends not to notice
and, instead, lunges
wetly at the fish
slipping by.
i watch my cubs
from the hill,
my fur grayer than before.
they don’t know
where i am
or who.
2023-08-08