Tuesday, December 9, 2008

At the clothing optional watering hole near the Cummington Community of the Arts, 1993

That afternoon we had finally seen a bear,

I had walked naked in the woods, finally,

looked for Old Graybeard, felt the hair on my bottom,

felt it as I had never had, as it always was. 


I could see my color in the bark

and the wind moved branches I thought were other men, naked too,

superannuated Eakins reclining on Goshen stone,

their color in the bark, their skins and bottoms feeling,

I am sure, as it always was.


Back at the house I had a role to do,

the place making me an actor too, my voice voicing.

Commit, I was told during the earlier rehearsals. 

I could commit but I wanted cues. 

I was answered I didn't need any.  Need any?


I followed the path, the thousand paths in the woods,

saw my bear, played the painting in my skin,

brushed whiskers with Old Graybeard.

Someone here said they know someone who has his cane.

The very staff that poked the earth!  I committed.

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