a fed bear
is a dead bear
or so the saying goes.
i understand it
as i wander
in hunger,
having nibbled
from your hand,
only to have it closed
to me.
rendered forlorn,
i am
savage in starvation
at the removal
of your palm,
tame and
what was the shape
of the world
before you?
nothing now seems
to fill me;
my lips close only
around the breath
of your name.
grief is ferral,
and silently repetitive
as falling snow
or the trail
of stars, trudging
through sky,
night upon night,
with me.



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