Everett Ruess and my Father

That young vagabond said
he always tried to look
not take
nature and its best swallowed him
all the way to his heart and lungs

until he decided to forget breathing and
beating
his way out of the wilderness

It took what he did not
unfair, isn't it?

looking out the window
I notice bright green tips on the branches
of an old black spruce
layered if I imagine one dimension
on bright green tips of summer clad poplar

cottonwood, oak

Am I taking enough to be safe?
safe from the gravity held within those black trunks
bursting out each spring and withering each fall

I always try to take enough
to beat my way by foot out of the wilderness
but also I do not take
and sometimes I lose myself

finding light and air infused with ghosts
rather than dust
I squander one after another breathing moment with silence