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where are the old mossy backed tillamook holy men who walked the tunnels of this green canopy their footfalls as still as the north star hovering in the blueblack sky at midnight where is the perpetual silence of chiefly dreams in what smoky glade do they lay moldering under the dewybark of deadtree earth where are the mutterings of oldtime people the voices that fell thud against the soft forest floor where are the chantings of a dying culture forgotten in a dark corner of a northwest forest silent moldering now how do we replace the lacyfolds of their knowledge how do we replace the soaring bird of their culture with the disharmony of dammed rivers and plastic soda bottles who shall teach us to to talk to the deer who can we know that flies with the hawk how do we feed our souls the inedible and the indigestible as the ancient people mumble in their spirit world treading soft on the mushy ground of the rain forests mossy ferny how shall we recognize our friends in the cammo-light of the dapple forest how shall we know what questions to ask where are the old mossy backed tillamook holy men who walked the tunnels of this green canopy their footfalls as still as the north star hovering in the blueblack sky at midnight
outtside portland 11 may 94
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