DEATHLAND

I stand hidden in the middle

Of a rolling field.

Sometimes

I sleep on the wet grass

Straining my ears

To hear the sound 

Of the faint humming of your heart

Knowing that you are a million miles away

Yet all I hear I silence.

I decorate the tree on this hill

With lanterns hanging from all its branches

At night

Hoping that you will wander

Atop some hilly cliff

To see me through the clouds between us

Hear through the howling of the northern winds

The faint song in my heart.