Rest Those Weary Eyes

I've seen distance collapse through time,
like the folding of a napkin, meeting plaid with fringe,
I read my timeline forwards, but a year in reverse,
like a train operator in a caboose, my sentiment is delayed.

I rather enjoy the grit of my present situation,
but my nerves feel padded, insensitive to the air's temper,
I feel frostbitten by the bitter wind the has blown me to sleep,
relishing the cold solidity of brick beneath my face.