Skipping Stone Sun

Skipping Stone Sun

When the bears emerge, blinking, filling 

their risen loaf lungs with 

bracing blue sky

the sun is already high, skipped 

across seas of feathered cloud crests

like a thin stone thrown, no longer low-angled but 

flicked-winged and broken-free

softening the glazed crust as it burns a new arc

day after day, over the mountains. 

Each breath is a small fire 

in spring, each step

a blazing trap door

or a threshold, suspended 

in the hollow bone cline

of a thermal loop. Each night

snow refreezes 

under stars, under moon

waiting for the quickening of a valvular snap

as the bears churn paths

through fine sugar snow.

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