Alone in the deep woods
Lost in the space of umbral canopies
And peaking light beams gleaming
This pen magnetically sifts to hand
And I stir inside the loud traffic of my mind
Always so fastidious choosing words
To define a feeling or free thought
In this smooth cow hide bound journal
The pages come to life like lungs
Rising and falling, breathing magic in meaning
As the power of writing is shamanistic
I am but a worshiper of its godliness