he is a wayfarer
wandering in the asylum of broken trees.
he falls over their roots and rocks,
but never touches their broken leaves.
he makes fist over fist
aligns each knuckle to knuckle,
careful to keep his palms from smudging,
their trenches stretching across from coast to coast.
all he's ever learned were words without meanings,
stories without morals,
and names without faces.

and all he'll ever touch will be broken trees,
never their broken leaves.