Brush the top of the forest as they
float by
Like gentle hands in torn up sleeves
Running their fingers through the trees
Like they were reaching for an old
friend
Seen only now and then
Before the sun washes them away again
The wrong wind guides us
The trees and the mountains don't hide
us
Because everything that is us
Is outside us now
And I look to my horizons for peace
As if in the place where the skies and
the forest meet
I can disappear
Into the oldest of stories told
The road home smells of pine
The sun rises over the mountains as the
rain stops
And the day begins like this
It was all an extravagance
All of it done in arrogance
And this wilderness becomes our
existence
With a ribbon of icy highway flying
though
This road home is long
We wind through the mountains in a
bitter haste
And last night ends like this
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