Walk the nature trail when it's dark outside and the children are fast asleep, tucked under blankets stitched by their immigrant grandfathers. Let your shoes soak in the muddy ground, collecting dirt and crushed leaves, as you walk deeper into the forest. The birds weep as their lullabies get lost and twisted in the shadows. A deer or is it a gazelle hurries across the dirt-trodden trail, leaping into the a patch of ancient shrubs. Somewhere, miles away from civilization, is a city running on the labor of your Vietnamese father, his hands caked in red brick dust and pollen. Currently, all that matters is that the tab of acid you've taken has settled in your belly, as you cross the corroded wooden bridge to the other side of the trail, where the young adults are playing the ukulele and drinking Heineken.

I am empty like the pill bottle on my brother’s nightstand.

If a tree fell in the woods and spoke to me – I wonder if the words will mimic the ones printed in the books it turns into,
or if the wisdom will be reminiscent of its number of rings,
I lost count at 23 –
The age you were when you wanted to tie the other end of the rope around the braches,
you saw them reaching out to the sky,
a serendipitous commonplace in your eyes,
well I’m thankful that the tree came down with the storm and that you found your footing among the leaves.
                              
                                               Believe me when I say --
That I never meant to tell you to speak out of my own need to make my life better than it should be,
I just wanted to make it okay--
To let you tell the truth instead of telling only what you thought you wanted me to hear you say.
                                                  You were afraid --
That the thoughts in your head and the rings in your trees made you unfit for this world,
and that the city’s ambience would always drown out the gusts of wind at the shores of Walden.
That no distance to run would take you far enough away to find ears to hear of your suffering,
I promise that I’ve never been more pleased to say you’re wrong.

blood is thrumming in these veins:
to the beat of the sun’s breaths,
to the pulse of echoed birdcall,
to the rhythm of screaming life.

this heartbeat is dripping lava beneath the earth;
these eyes are morning mist draping pines;
these bones are hollow like the first snow;
these fingers are peaks brushing icy clouds;
in the right is held an ocean; the left, the desert sands;
and every inhalation mirrors another’s death.

try and tell me you are indestructible.
try and tell me you are paramount.
try and tell me you are not of the earth –
i dare you.
(these tides will rip you apart.)

We need the tonic of wilderness
the land and sea. Indefinitely wild.
Unsurveyed and unfathomed.
A taste of beautiful cultivated outdoors

I wanted to live deep
and **** the marrow out of life
but we loiter in the winter
while it is already spring

The surface of the Earth
soft and impressable
carving deep
ruts of tradition and conformity

I’d rather go before the mast
on deck of the world.
Mysterious and explorable
amid the moonlight and mountains.