Oh, to be a bear—
to eat and eat and eat, gorging yourself
on the fat of the land, until unrecognizable
in your own corpulence;
to just close your eyes and disappear,
a tumultuous season passing by as you dream.

It seems so unfair.
I could commit gluttony at dinner
yet, come morning, awaken
empty and needing.

How much time must transpire
between opening my eyes and closing them again
to be considered a new nap? Or have I succeeded
at one big sleep with brief intermissions
of disappointing wakefulness?
Some say it takes ten thousand hours
to practice a skill into mastery. I am
a student of the ursine arts. All I care
to do these days is hone this craft, still unable
to drift away for whole seasons.
A day or two may pass away, but I awaken
faced with all the reasons
I want to disappear. I close my eyes again.
Oh, to be a bear.

And how does a bear know
when the season is over,
when it is safe to open eyes once again?
How will I?