I miss the silence your dreams make in the mornings.
I miss the hum of the birds.
Pretty little things, with slender beaks and
gently curved, brightly feathered wings,
they leap off trees and into the valley below.
I miss walking through the breath of the hills
I used to pretend I was walking through clouds
Back home I am pretending still.
Over here the concrete makes heaven seem
pretty far off, pretty farfetched.
It makes me yearn ever more for you
for the mountains and all the rest.