Sometimes You Have to Work on a Poem for Years

Morning Encounter

I head up towards the aspens,

their leaves quaking, shimmering,

careless of the daisies and lupine below

that jostle and bend with the wind

whipping down these gullies.

A broad red-brown road curves,

wraps around this mountain like a scarf,

then narrows to the rutted path I walk.

A slender stream carries on polite conversation

with rocks and road as I pass.

I know this place.

The cap of snow,

the wind’s chill,

the morning silence.

It is early, still dark...

startled by a sound,

some movement in the bushes,

I stop, hold my breath,

look and look and then see it,

a porcupine at early breakfast.

I breathe easy now,

wondering, as I watch him

snap off leaf after leaf,

does he know I'm here?

has he caught my scent on the wind?

He takes no notice of me

but only eats.

I want us to be alike,

the porcupine and I,

some understanding to pass between us—

"there is wildness in me," I say,

"and I can be single-

minded like you."

I move close,

as if to touch him,

show him we are kin.

He moves away,

waddles up the mountain,

chewing as he goes.

“Porcupine,” I call after him,

“stay a while.” He

turns his eyes towards me

long enough to see what we share

and what we do not.

I hear him break through

the bushes and wildflowers

long after we have parted.