thin trace of blood when bear moves. a thin blood trace shines in the morning sun as bear leaves denshe says: this is the month of imploding. i’m only breathing through words now— less and less air — loosing language one word after the other. these are among the lost words: familiefest søndagsstel udsigttårn hjemvendt nedfalden roemark sjippetov hovedskald sukkerskål gyngehest samlebånd havørn hættemåge pinsesol dansemyg bortfaldet nedtagen hundeangst lillebælt nordhavn each breath require b o g s t a v e r i n g this is the month of å n d e n ø d 

she says: “water, tell me more of the water”. filling up the great lake, make it breathe. that bear river makes it breathe. tell me the names bear river speaks, coming down to fill the salt lake, mixing freshwater with its brine (mud flats, south bay, north bay, wellsville cone, cottonwood creek, soda springs, muddy creek, cokeville, twin creek, new canyon, witney canyon, needles creek, mill creek, hayden peak) –bear river, as the only one never reaching the sea, it makes a circular move (crossing state borders) through time, coming down to pass it’s own latitude and