• to intervene

i’m becoming familiar with
each stone;
coming to know each freckle
upon particular rocks,
and their contours -
even the shadows they cast
when the light touches them
a certain way.
the shapes we make together
the rocks and me -
when our shadows merge,
and break apart
when i carry on
upwards.

that one –
the stone
perched on the very
tip of the mountain,
has been uprooted and
tumbled;
found a place next to its old footprint
to rest.

i imagine the claws
and strong forearms
the black velvet
fur that moves with muscles
beneath
the twitching nose and
brown eyes
of a black bear led
by olfactory senses
that whisper –
“roll these rocks”
(not loud enough
for the bugs to hear).

i imagine the bear
ambling away,
a few insects richer -
he probably paused
at the huckleberry bush,
and with a rough tongue
delicately
removed berry, by
berry -
dew dripping
on a wet nose.

and after i pluck plump red berries
from the same bush – the one
i imagine fed the bear,
i roll the rocks back into place
to house the bugs again,
but
only as an afterthought –
think:

how very human of me

to restore the mountain
to what i think to be
order.

i can get to know this mountain,
but knowing
doesn’t make her mine
to rearrange.

•

by april bencze