for Theresa Kishkan and John Pass

What will the bears say
as they shamble down their mountain
to forage a future landscape,
unmapped, unnamed?

Muttering, sweet-tongued,
among the frigging raspberries,
whose canes still shadow
the yarrow and salal.

Retelling tales
their forbears told them
of those who lived, once,
on this rich land:

“When poets dwelled here,
with vestiges of knowledge
they printed broadsides
and built their home.

Our legends say
they tamed wild tigers,
raised genius children
and feasted with their friends.

The cherry stones
flung from their breakfast table,
became the orchards
which host this Jubilee.

Some days they swam
in lakes of rubies
and voyaged, summers,
across the waves to Greece.”