This is called "Coming Home."
It's an Alaskan mountain poem, too.
"We passed through here once a long time ago,
and you must expect to leave something behind as you pass.
It was the mountain, chanting round [? Kisani ?] winds,
tonight dancing.
All painted black, splashed with constellations--
The Pleiades, Orion.
I wake up past midnight to listen.
The bull roar whirls, cloud calling
in distant North mountains.
The snow singing, answers, we will be with you
for as long as the moon is born frozen
from the backbone of the mountain.
From the stillness of gray stone 4,000 feet high.
Leave something behind, they said.
You never know, you might come back again this way.
And then you will be home."