Tall grass sways where the tracks once thrummed,

now only the wind remembers the trains.

I used to chase shadows here,

feet light as a feather,

heart louder than my breath.

The rails are rusted,

but I still know where they lead—

past the orchard and the broken fence,

the place where I first understood silence.

Above it all, the moon rises—

just like it did back then,

quiet, constant,

watching the years fold in on themselves.

Like yours truly.