private visions

by Peter Humphreys

The train clings to the hills,
as if for safety,
as we wind
through the mist

A gap in the clouds
a brooding prospect:
our destination,
shrowded by mountains,
girt by watery wastelands,
embraced by a glowery darkness
and lashed
by relentless, oppressive rain.

Are homecomings really like this?
Or is our inner vision, our bright remembrance,
given way to private grief?


Posted on 07/18/2005
Copyright © 2024 Peter Humphreys

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