You live along lost mountains 
in your silent castle of forgotten names. 

Always looking up to the snowy peaks 
as they constantly pester 
the easily distracted 
sky of clouds and island birds.

Sometimes when I am cold and visiting you, 
I shiver below the backdrop of grand mountains 
looming so high.  

This invisible appeal is present to some extent 
in every home.



There is no true justice in this world. For some places get named while others do not. Some places get found while others get lost. Some places get found, though I wish they’d get lost. Some places get cleaned while others get trashed. Some places are happy. Some places are sad. Some places grow on you and aren’t really that bad.