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What if I called your name,

in the thick of the forest,

when no ones around?

(you know the rest).

Sometimes I sense that you can

hear my deepest thoughts,

I haven't decided if I like that or not.

Sometimes I spell 'where are you?' in morse

even though I know the city smog is

much too thick for you to see it,

with the dim flashlight I hide under my bed.

I wish I could split the smoke with a finger,

split it in half and run through,

back home.

It's hard to call a place home now,

but you,

you're as sturdy as a house to me

(all the home I need).

Maybe we can part the sky together

if we try hard enough,

you can fingerpaint mountains

and trees and all the landscapes

I'm missing in the smog for me,

give me a place to hug like I'm home

again.