Home Coming

A face in the carriage window
looks back from somewhere else;
close and sudden, sober,
smiling back at itself;
never to see a face sleeping,
shocked by an open mouth.

Never truly deserted,
a mirror will try to tell
(or a face in a body of water
where rippling shadows dwell)
the face of a person remembered
from the far, far base of a well

and into a world projected
where left hand points to the right
and sunset forms a backdrop,
staying awake at night,
I’m speeding backwards towards you
from a dream into your light.