the headlines read;
a mountain recluse
returns to the trees,
swinging his Keens through the drifts
backing the hillwind.
He'll walk beyond sunset,
sunk in a reverie, into the dark,
no light but the dusk,
no electricity, just stars
pulsing above empty limbs,
and later,
an inextinguishable moon,
sensations laid bare,
echos in the chest,
like the hurt notes of owls,
and of souls,
yearning to be touched.
