I say hello with my hands all over your hands in the manner of a bear; the bear is a black bear; and it is winter. Loosened pines where the back of the house is that deliver the men from the caves where they eat. I have been long on this road. The men won't take me with them; I am no longer a man; and it is winter. So I see how winter has been to you, locked in wool with the black at the edge of your fingers you show no one, that you scrub at. You want to go to the caves, too. You want to see it for yourself. I am all the knowledge invisible around you. You are what I can’t have. 

__

This piece is based, roughly, on myriad Saturday afternoon PBS documentaries, which I watch as my partner is away teaching her computer classes. I get to eat things like fried eggs, which she hates.