April 25th Poem

The Truro Bear

by Mary Oliver

There’s a bear in the Truro woods.
People have seen it - three or four, 
or two, or one. I think
of the thickness of the serious woods
around the dark bowls of the Truro ponds; 
I think of the blueberry fields, the blackberry tangles, 
the cranberry bogs. And the sky
with its new moon, its familiar star-trails, 
burns down like a brand-new heaver, 
while everywhere I look on the scratchy hillsides
shadows seem to grow shoulders. Surely
a beast might be clever, be lucky, move quietly
through the woods for years, learning to stay away
from roads and houses. Common sense mutters: 
it can’t be true, it must be somebody’s
runaway dog. But the seed
has been planted, and when has happiness ever
required much evidence to begin
its leaf-green breathing?
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