At the unknown railway station
all that I know,
and all that know of me,
has been left behind.

I am as the wide-eyed boy
at the window of a terrarium,
seeing life from behind panes of glass.

It is an odd,
blissful sensation.

A detachment of life from life situation
leaving me in an instant
inexplicably light.

Yet abruptly I fall solemn,
turning my face into my hands.

For revealed through its temporary absence
is a glimpse the true weight of ’I’.