Think of the long trip home. / Should we have stayed at home and thought of here? / Where should we be today? / Is it right to be watching strangers in a play / in this strangest of theatres? / What childishness is it that while there’s a breath of life / in our bodies, we are determined to rush / to see the sun the other way around? / The tiniest green hummingbird in the world? / To stare at some inexplicable old stonework, / inexplicable and impenetrable, / at any view, / instantly seen and always, always delightful? / Oh, must we dream our dreams / and have them, too? / And have we room / for one more folded sunset, still quite warm?
‚Is it lack of imagination that makes us come / to imagined places, not just stay at home? / Or could Pascal have been not entirely right / about just sitting quietly in one’s room?
Continent, city, country, society: / the choice is never wide and never free. / And here, or there… No. Should we have stayed at home, / wherever that may be? ‚