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Adam Strauss

Sun Bear

The sun-bear snarls in its moonlight lashed lair.

Low mist washes through the cinnamon grove.

The sun is still here—underneath your feet

Stepping across this loamy humus—stop!

Realize there's rough sea between two trains

Of thought; what are you thinking? Don't think: look!

Don't look out of time for our dawn—dewy

Shower as sky brides earth; sun's returned to

Receiving us—reaching down: the ground's cold.

Spikes of cinnamon waft—inspiring his

Tongue or rather talent: traveled halfway

Across our world to see sources of such splendid plates nightly.

Sing the gap; it'll likely sink your craft.

Spikes of cinnamon waft their savor in an empty room.

A scent is perfect—fully peaked—in its being unperceived.

A tendril unfurls out a cliff-cleft Andaman sea crops like an Imperial steed.

One man and one woman while whitewater wallops their bateaux.

As with fags sundown flames lacy jags just outside a harbor a quick haul from Finland.

A sun bear cub takes its first bite of meat.

At seabottom oil seeps as drilling sucks skyward.

At the top step incense burns.

Every morning across a country hands rub oil in.

Oily woods inhabitants adamantly keep rooted.

The very distance between is the connection.
Place stays and strays and sways; smoking cinnamon.
Pears are piled like the greeny-golden clouds as seen through this window.

If you put your mind to it you can be in Africa though perhaps no precise country.

Adamant pronounces always an Adam and an ant.

Huddled horizon frames astringent lustrous quince.

In Malaysia a man eats snake; in the corner of a KL penthouse eats pizza.

Cassia bark's loaded onto a freighter steams across the South China sea.

No bear would have been welcomed; there's been no sun for a week.

Gull-down in the manner of follicles but unlikely to itch.

She stir-fries water-spinach eyeing a foreigner self-overhearing a Finish Rhapsody.

Moss inching over scree looks as if it's been styled for a fashion shoot.

A lucky bear ambles into a patch of bamboo shoots; the pork at the newest big opening in
Monterey Park needs cinnamon and crunchier skin.

A Collie a girl whistles Cassie to loses the tags on its collar.

Gulls the girl isn't thinking of gobble scraps from a day-boat.

Can one think about Sun bears lollop their native range not no zoo or only imagine?

What's the difference between logic and faith?

A flock of birds whose name I can't pronounce in the tongue native here nor know in mine are a
brilliant blue bordering so many shades.

A French woman in rural Finland might dream she's the head-chef for a major household in
Colombo and doesn't know how to select cinnamon.

Periplum knots whip close to wrecking rock.

At the Cochin station someone held a rose.

Sun rose gilding cliffs.

An ad for cinnamon rolls stuck to the bulls'-eye burl of the kitchen table.

Tree-seeds turn to trunks. LV monogrammed ones loaded onto steamers
Periplum wrought from airy seeds no cedes to errant.
Reality measures by degrees.
She planted a redwood seed attempting a fantasy roots displace

Like a freighter does water. Panama
Canals the world closer together takes
Comprehending the conundrum of close: far
Nerves unite a worldwide state of being. A form is
A form is a form. Donkeys clop on skirts Benidorn.