I need the north.
I am pining to be near the blasted trees
With ten arms reaching into the wind,
Across fresh water,
Clinging to rocky beach.
Gnarly, pocked and bleached pure.
I need to soak in cold sun
And feel sparse air and open land
I need spongy cedar under foot,
And people to be few.
I need the north.
I need the place our country sings,
Where art breathes and is.
I need the source of every sunny youth,
Where the notion of memories are born.
I need small, precious flowers, sprouting impossibly from sheer stone.
And the rugged cheer that is finally home.
