VII. Trickster Recalls Winter   Red as roses, the motley fall signals coming cold. Too soon to go to mountains, where the bears will Find their annual wombs and sleep, where snow will fill The gaps between the toothlike trees, and mold The jagged rocks to something soft that waits. It is a time of mating, for the bears; They cough and shake with love, take to their lairs Next month quickened with cubs. So love translates To meat, to fur, to futures. Across clichés of red And gold, stepping with autumn caution, elk migrate From mountain to the tended fields, each dun head Alert. Jays blaze blue against the tall peaks' slate. And Trickster sings his favorite song once more: "I've seen it all before; life's such a bore."