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

Really

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.