To the Lion:

An Ode to Bipedalism
OR:
Liquid Courage


The inked darkness blotted
by stars, minds and muses
guided by a single coal,
still burning a torpid haze.

Up off your haunches,
you stood tall on all twos
shed your winter coat
and left for colder climates;
only your swollen heart
pumping heat to tired,
wet limbs.

Scratching for signs of hope
in Rocky, desolate soil
you were given grace to realize
powdered pads have a beauty
their own, even shredded
and sore.

A stuffed man stands, pinned to a post,
both feet in a months-old paw-print.
His eyes fix West.