By g.l. bass (the ghostbear still lives)


for Alannah





At the end

Of the summer's day,

Heat, in long shadows,

Crawls belly to the ground,

Slowly giving way

To a distant,

Shallow moon

Whose full face,

In faded light,

Rises rust red

Amidst dusk gray night.

Above the woodland canopy

A summer moon climbs

In the arms of

A pulsing soft southeastern breeze.


Beneath tall hickories,

Hidden in thin light,

A lone woodsman

Rests before the end

Of work

Awaiting the coming of night.



Deep from within

Dense wood

A howl calls

Up and across

The last thin line of horizon,

It climbs and winds

It's way to find him.

He settles against

A massive spreading oak,

Closes his eyes,

He listens for the

Fading end of the

Wolf's cry.

Darkness climbs and seeps

In long finger reaches

Closing in

Upon all the trails

He keeps

To find

His way home again.



He settles in and

Absorbs the quiet coming

Of night.

He listens to the end

Of voices,

Echoes carried through darkness

Above the trees,

Sewn into the night

Upon a cool south eastern breeze.

The night

Encloses, surrounds,

And finally settles

A blanket of stillness,

Wrapped around him.


A small fire flickers

A single tongue of flame.

He watches its glow

Against the falling in

Of day.

A thin wisp of rising smoke

As if in steady crawl,

Winding its way

Then disappearing

Into a tale of

Falling darkness.

The spirit of the woods

Flows upon night's

Cool breath.

The woodsman

Feels a soft cold

Breath upon him,

He knows in the deep

Stillness of the woods,

He is not alone.

Aside the fire,

He follows

The dim lit trail

That he knows

Will guide him home.


He settles down

Into night,

Sheltered beneath

Tall Canopy of hickory,

Protected by Moon's

Soft pale light.

He has become one with

The spirit of the forest.

One with the spirit of night.

He lets fall away all

Those sounds,

All that noise,

All that chaos

From the maddening day.

He lets all

Slip away,

Falling into darkness

Dying into its final end,

At the end of a dying day.


He lets fall all

The strain of years,

The drain of fears,

The stain painted

On his heart in tears,

All falls away

In echoes of fading

Cries drifting

Through the forest,

Above the trees,

Calling him

To be one

With them,

With their song.

In their voice

He finds release

And a peace

He knows

Will surely lead

Him home.


The woodsman knows,

The trail and way home

Is not a marking clear,

But rather a call

You cannot hear.

A settling of the heart

Does not upon the night fall,

It is the voice from within,

Being one

With the wolf's call

Upon the wind,


With the light of the moon,


With the fall of darkness,


With the voices

Of the woodlands,


With the spirits

Of the forest,


As it was before

He was him,

As it was

And always

Has been,

A song

Of the heart

From deep within.