The forest's sun-dearthed valleys
Levy taxes on the heart.
As a stranger I trek through poplar fiefdoms,
A pilgrim sojourning through ponderosa lands.
Zephyr, our translator, conveys to them
That, like Abraham, I speak so
Because of what I seek,
Even if that better country should appear only
Between my countless dust and numberless stars,
To me only visible from afar—
A promise unfulfilled.
