This content has been archived. It may no longer be relevant
Traveling by train, long ago
watching the landscape sliding by
squat houses, flat meadows
miniature cattle in the distance
ghosted by mist.
Hours, days, years glide away
as we ponder the enigma of time:
the past impossible to retrieve,
its images imprinted on the mind;
the future impossible to predict,
wedged in between, only this moment
caught in the staccato of rain.
Where are we going, to what altered place,
what country of the imagination?
We know our destination:
At the end of the journey
at the last station.
Someone waits for us; he calls our name.
We enter his embrace.
