A god of byways and highways,
Finder of forgotten roads and lost people.
He is a god of last hopes.

He is a god of dreams, I think,
As playful and daring as the raven,
Sensuous and giving as the dolphin,
A rescuer of happiness.
I am certain that he knows
The world is not fair.
It is a good thing, then,
That he is a trickster god,
A master of shortcuts and humorous constructs.
It is a good thing that he is a god of swiftness and cunning.
At night I keep vigil, when I think of this god;
It is not a prayer to him, but for him, that I write.
So fast, he is, that I fear he will find death too quickly.
What will he do on that day, when he reaches into that bottomless bag of tricks, and finds it empty?
To this moment, he has eluded fate, stayed ahead of his bullet --
But because he is also a god of bravery and heroism,
I understand the price on his head.
I pray that the good he has done is enough to buy him a few more years of peace.
When the sun sets on the hillsides, and I look to the high trails on the mountain's feet, it is not the sun that I am chasing.
I am looking for my god.