I sit on cushioned seats,

obviously redesigned in the eighties.
Going home
has never been so peaceful

Forehead pressed against the cold glass,
taking care not to fog up the window
through which I watch.

Places, events, friends-
all make a fleeting appearance,
quickly turning into memories.

Inside it is comfortably quiet,
no human dares break the silence-
only machine.

Inhaling traces of the outside world,
stowing away on the bottom of passenger’s boots.
Snow and negative temperatures freeze the unprotected hand
reaching out to grasp the rapidly fading sun.

Hoping one day to stare out that same window,
but this time
I won’t be wishing for the journey to end.