Where are you glade?
Where do you live?
Or are you but a part of me?
Where is your grand, majestic limb,
...
Sometimes
It's easy to feel like a single pinhole of light
On a cloudy, onyx-black night
All the rest blotted out and asleep behind opaque wisps
...
In August I found an old canoe
Well it wasn't a canoe it was a lightning-struck trunk
Of some wonderful oak
That sailed forever in a sea of red ferns.
...
Of Lost Glades
Where are you glade?
Where do you live?
Or are you but a part of me?
Where is your grand, majestic limb,
Where is your sacred willow tree?
Of every wood in all the land,
My searching, fruitless, tires me.
My quest to find your cedar hand,
Idle, waiting, eternally.
From within the quarreled pines I hear,
Your billowed leaves enticing me.
Come back, come near, you are asleep.
Wake now, be in harmony.