When I was little there was the highway through the mountains.
I knew my town was up there, somewhere. I had found it only once before.
Between two rocks there was an entrance. The houses were built
Into the cliffs either side. It was very cold. Mists smoked.
The stone road was narrow, the houses went straight up
Beside it. There were pine trees. I was the only one
Allowed in from outside. It was my town.
Even now, when I sleep, I try to find it.