Early Morning Poem by Bob Bowers

I awaken to the mists
sliding up my mountain,
Hugging myself, as I would hug
the world,
And am taken by the chestnut
eyes of a doe
looking back at me,
She into my world, I into hers.

So strong and elegant and
feminine,
Not worried or aware
of the rest of the world
That surrounds her, engulfs her.

Others,
stronger, quicker,
Are ready to take this quiet corner to
themselves—
To their own purposes.
Bobcat.
Mountain lion.
Man.
The king of beasts.

But what do we know of that,
my doe and me?
Or care?

We draw each other in,
she to her world of nature,
I to mine of peaceful reflection.

We, neither of us, care for the
fang, red with blood,
Nor the strutting, posturing,
of those bright lions.

We know each other,
we know the streams of life,
Flowing steadily, drawing the
Mountain spruce down
Through our space and time,
Down to our crystal lakes
That reside within us.

She turns.
Our oneness—
the reverie we share
in our crossed worlds—
Slips from us,
Just as the mists of the ocean
that were those lakes,
those streams,
those spruce, and juniper, and pine,
Part, and slide away.

The sun, more powerful,
blinding,
Steals our cocoon from us,
Melts away our shroud.

I turn,
slowly,
Less sure,
But comforted,
Secure, and renewed,
Knowing our hearts pulse the same life.

I am the doe, and she is me.


My day shifts
To the world I know,
have known,
That is a part of me,
but not all,
And I warm my hands, and my heart,
with my small cup of coffee,
Feeling whole, and one with
nature,
Knowing my time here is only
that small piece of my life
That I have shared with my doe,
my sister,
Yet there is so much more.



November,1998