There All the Same

Part of you wants to go
Back to the dark wood, lost
Much more in your world now

Than you’d be lost in its.
Oh the woods, the poor woods
That burn down spring to fall,

The woods like a thin shroud
The bones of the earth glare
Straight through, the woods cut down.

Your world hatched and crossed
Long lines and lines of roads,
So dense they’re dark woods now.

Can’t you see that scared soul
At small hours by the bridge,
Too scared to dare to beg?

He’d start start the long poem now,
But he’s good as in hell
On loan and in too deep.

The woods wait there all the same,
In his thoughts and in yours,
And in the dark dust lanes

Thrown off by stars too dim
To pierce the murk of light
From all these lamps and signs.