Fog Chief from Saltwater by Roadopener

I am a bowl of winter wine
The hollow knife in burning pine
The valley ghost in northern lakes
September moss on cedar shakes

I’ve sat and smoked with driftwood kings
Through sleeping storms my beehive sings
Of junction love that knows no bounds
Cascading whims of potlatch towns

On the back roads, when the moon glows, in the dead of night
And the forest takes my hand and lights up both my eyes
When the dawn breaks, and the fox wakes, from his highway dreams
Then the island fills my cup with gold from virgin streams

Gemini spoke and from his lungs
Echoed the sparks of native tongues
Carried across the oceans now
Coming to rest on my mountain crown

Through fallow fields my hymn will trawl
But in the swamps my galleon stalls
To trade the fruit of honey days
For rusted wind, from haunted bays

On the back roads, when the moon glows, in the dead of night
And the forest takes my hand and lights up both my eyes
When the dawn breaks, and the fox wakes, from his highway dreams
Then the island fills my cup with gold from virgin streams

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