If it’s true there is hope
for a tree cut down,
I will walk from Alaska
down to Patagonia
with an axe in one hand
and seeds in the other,
planting treehouses along the way
because even vagabonds
need a place to stay, sometimes.
They’ll grow
high up in the canopy,
lined with jars to collect moonlight
to act as votive reminders
that it is on the darkest nights
when we can see the most light
coming down from auroras
and milky ways.
And even though the moon
is just a super bright rock,
she is still the beacon
that guides our way home.
These days
I don’t know if my return home
finds me in a cathedral
or a cabin,
whether my communion
is wine and bread from a goblet
or whiskey
pulled straight from the bottle in the mountains,
but I do know
three years ago,
I started inking a labyrinth on my arm
to remember where I started.
Each bend reads like a line on a topo map;
you can trace a route
straight to my heart from that summit.
And in those high places
emerging butterflies unfurl into living prayer flags.
I will watch each winged square
tie in to the next
like alpine semaphore
strung from peak to peak.
Reminders to every passerby
that there is loss all around us
but we are linked
by the love that makes each loss,
which is how I hold on
to each hope
that grows from a tree cut down.
credits
from In Time EP,
released June 1, 2016
Amanda Chan
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