The Song of Alaskan Trees

On my journey to Alaska,

I’ve stolen a weather man’s dog, that was rightfully mine.

I’ve climbed vast rocks that have split apart my feet

I’ve worked as a cashier on three roadside stops 

And I’ve fished for faith over the edge of a cliff, far too steep

Over the years,

I’ve forgotten why I must travel.

Why my friends have all gone,

Why my only passion lies in the northwest

And why my backpack’s empty with nothing left to pawn

All my reason communicates like a bottle thrown overseas,

It will speak it once and if you miss it,

The only way of knowing is to find it again on a foreign beach

O but how I like to waste myself,

And float through the world like pollen.

Assisting few souls that will never voice their gratitude 

and pestering the rest until their similarly rotten

I track roads alike palaces, all of God’s nature is loved in surfeit by me. 

How beautiful is the nakedness of weakened wilderness.

In a sea of strange and unformidable glory to the devotee

Accuse me a skeptic or rather an undisguised believer,

Of how the mundane breathes the quintessence of loneliness,

And yet I don’t feel lonely at all.