The haze,
the liquid blaze of hibernation, this fakery,
this holding your hand through to blank imagination of the cougar spirit.
Finger your warm breath and … whoosh, the ape minds with camel history,
gone now, gone to the mysterious creature consciousness.
Of innate abilities, in art, and shaking your killer fist at the gate of oblivion.
The barrier imposing on the edge of your suppressed ability to control
the spines of the visible, many moiling, drying on the bluff
of animal forgetfulness.