Oh, give us a thumbs up, give us a hwar and a hwil.
For my last meal I will eat oysters and mother of pearl.

I have seen it perched on a railing,
front and hind legs drawn
together as if by the invisible.

Its huge prints wear no seat belts and fill
with ice by morning.

See how it rears up in reflections, window by window.

How it floats above the East River and looks into
a hospital room, its muzzle big
as 42nd and Broadway.

Oh, give us a thumbs up, give us a hwar and a hwil.

Because of the bear, the operating room dimmed to twilight
below zero, my arms crossed over my chest.

Who knew the way was corridor under corridor, each
absence to be learned by heart.

To suffer the claws and feel no pain. To be strewn
like berries and seeds.

Oh, give us a thumbs up, give us a hwar and a hwil.

When the muscle was cut I gnarled.
There is no alone like alone.

Why the bear appears to some in broad daylight 
and not to others, I have no idea.

To beget the bear—but what do I know of bear or beget?
Oh, give us a hwar, a thirl, a whirl.

I know only warble and glisten,
the bird stuck in its throat.

The unmade I left unmade.

Let us not regret regret.

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