Driving down old
Northern roads
Calls to mind the strangest
Unearthly words
Like 'sentinels'
I imagine them living
Between moon and world
Guardians of a realm
Made entirely of fog and mist and mosses
Black arms of armored bark lifted skyward
Splayed in the waters of the sunset
For they must get bored up there
In the mountains.
Lines of skeleton pines unbroken
I'll never know how far they go.
