Snow Moon—Black Bear Gives Birth

It was not quite spring, it was
the gray flux before.

Out of the black wave of sleep she turned,
enormous beast,

and welcomed the little ones, blind pink islands
no bigger than shoes. She washed them;

she nibbled them with teeth like white tusks;
    she curled down
beside them like a horizon.

They snuggled. Each knew what it was:
an original, formed

in the whirlwind, with no recognitions between
itself and the first steams

of creation. Together they nuzzled
her huge flank until she spilled over,

and they pummeled and pulled her tough nipples, and she
    gave them
the rich river.