The Road Home 

When you think of your world, can you see? No,

dark mazes of leaves grow behind our dreams.

You more expertly bend my dead tree walls

Then the more haunted spirits ever could.


When the tangled antlers become your hearth

Do you see me above you, like the dead –

Hanging there, these roots of mine taking hold

Of your soft peculiar madness.


We burn bright tracks through the unyielding dark;

And let our souls carry our bodies to the end

We are real as the road in the forest.


Close your eyes, think about our world. Can you see?

As we wander through the paths of your mind

I am here, as your ghost, to light your way.