Coming into Formia

I am in a tunnel and alone

Or at least as solo as can be

On a chugging train with

Strangers of all sorts

And far from home.

Around are hums and bleeps

Of aged mechanics and phones mobile.

But I don't care.

My mind has drifted up to

Hidden hillsides above above,

To cars somewhere on

Winding roads and

Life's plumped cows lowng

With contentment

Of sun, of wet, green grass

And milking yet to come.

If the Gods grant time, that is!