What the Bears Do If this is a dream I will open the eyes of my eyes before life kills us all. I want to see what the bears do. I open the ears of my ears when there is a dear hum or sound of grinding that burns. The bears hear it too. The bears are not dancing. They may surround us with their large smell of hot fur or drop to the ground, lope off into woods we did not know were there until the bears claimed them. We have received from the bears something of fur of the woods of knowing in our blood but what about when blood is gone? What then? Then I will wait for the tiger sure to come. I am not prey. I will follow and not be mazed by that hungry chthonic gaze. It may be that any death should feed somebody, but in my family we burn our dead. Journey For a Monday Monday and suddenly I feel an intense longing for the desert….