Friday, February 20, 2009

Wade Davis

When we climbed the ghost trees
and fell on our heads
it was a good year for panic
Yes it was

How did we get off the ground then?
Yes, I remember; we fell on our heads
It was a good year for unknowns

So when the crow falls in the winter months
when the old spirits leave Tree Mother for
the next place
when tear drops and rain fall from the same sky
the old growth forest on your tongue will fall silent.
Then, a bitter sleep.

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