I walk this along narrow,
shady trail high above a canyon
everything green grows miniature
not ready to be full size in winter.
Once long ago. these woods and trails were
the only arms that could hold me
that day a girl, a friend
I just met, died at her own hand.
The summer cloud forest
allowed very little light,
while the scent of fog and sword fern’s mint
wrapped me in a blanket of mist,
they set the boundaries in my life so
I might know the world is good.