I see here now, standing in

the midst of birch and gravelled roads

a field of war; a battle lost

fought long before my time. 

The heroes of that fight here

still remain, though broken down,

dispersed through stream and soil. 

I was made to fear the woods. My mind

exists to see behind each tree 

the worst of what could come. 

So why am I not pleased to see

the world around me tamed and made

to work? 

I long for an untouched taste of sunlight 

that might set my spirits straight. to glance upon 

that overburdened stream of salmon, 

struggling with life; 

those song-infested woods

pitched high in pine, and incense of resin, 

wherein the heron lays its weary head. to fight 

against the trees as if 

undying, trusting their return;

not for them, wishing that they were. 

I could go west. So many have

before to fish and fell; but I admit

it would not be the same, to know that

only a few days away the spoils

of our victory lay waiting. to know that

what I find would pale in the sublime

of all that came before. to know that

nowhere in this world is left alone.

So here I am. left now, the victor, 

standing in the midst of battles lost.