A GRADUAL CANTICLE FOR AUGUSTINE The thinnest bear is awakened in the winter by the sleep-laughter of locusts, by the dream-blustering of bees, by the honeyed scent of desert sands that the wind carries in her womb into the distant hills, into the houses of Cedar. The bear has heard a sure promise. Certain words are edible; they nourish more than snow heaped upon silver plates or ice overflowing golden bowls. Chips of ice from the mouth of a lover are not always better, Nor a desert dreaming always a mirage. The rising bear sings a gradual canticle woven of sand that conquers cities by a slow
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