The tram on the hill sings
sound waves along its track
softly echoing off the trees
in the distance, I peer and
listen to their response

The wind carries the song
to the sky, I float along
in the full light where the owls
remain silent, their grey call
nowhere to be heard

Fortress, North and South House
Monk Village, Owl, Westfield
A humming sound, turbulence
from the platform in the cave
swallowing us up

A stalactite drips
everything shines smooth, auras
of those who lived here, echoes
of how it once was, and yet
it's just an ordinary ride