Whispers behind soft fluttering veils,
Shushed murmurs, kept close to the ear
Lest someone should hear
The secrets of the bears,
Quiet bears who tiptoe through the suburbs at dusk,
Glancing through still windows like silhouettes
To spy on the empty rooms.
The grass neatly trimmed and bare,
The sun red, pink, purple, orange and careful
Careful not to shine too bright, or it will wake the slumbering baby
That a bear is now silently slipping off with,
To hide with the babe in the drifting whispers.
No one will find it; not by listening to the mutters, anyhow:
They whisper to whisper, and not to command
They whisper to whisper and not to instruct
They whisper to whisper, for only the lullaby buzz they make
And they’ll never stop because they never actually started.
And there Mother Bear and baby will live in silence
In a jungle of veils and faceless whispers that is really a desert,
Deserted of people and their sense.

------- Author's Notes -------

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