Homecoming.

The light begins to fail.
In a loud, hot,
bustling carriage I slump,
staring outside as my face
becomes visible in the glass
against the darkness of the tunnel.
Suddenly a field emerges,
sloping in the long evening light
towards my reflection.
Failed mountains rise,
not quite tall enough, but beautiful,
silhouetted against the light.
It is as if the sun descended
at that point in time
just to remind me
what I have missed.
We pass tumbledown buildings,
moss covered and shadowy,
reminders of my predecessors.
But for now, as the train clatters into the station,
this is my land,
and I am made of it.