if you see one

you can say

bad bear

right to its face

even if you’re not sure,

maybe it’s good

and has discretion

in relation

to the delicious

treasury of human

garbage or even

the eternal

work of bees,

who knows

but it’s ok

on the path

with your thunder voice

unequivocally

to condemn it,

lore says that

will make it leave

so you can go

tell your story

in the tent

and again at the table

laughing without asking

what violence

brought you there,

you and all

that food

from everywhere,

those flowers

you eat

and do not wonder

who told you

it’s ok to lie

even to the rich

or to save a life

even your own,

in the middle of night

in the cave

you will hear

the eternal question

even darker

than what surrounds

was I born this way

or was it circumstance

that condemned me,

silence answers

you were born

to be condemned

everywhere

but in poems,

for a while you hang

dead leaves

on the night tree

then they fall away

and all that is left

is this honey

you stole from the world