And so launch away, lurch, with luggage in hand,
land newly, no longer the self that left, O voyager,
and in a reachable unsteadiness try to be part
of the street scenes left and right unfolding,
interiors where sweets are served and in the place
of significance, certain portraits are unexplained.
Try here the faces the language's muscles refine,
and strive for the local indifference to connotations.
And to have shipped out, gone abroad, gone awol,
without rising from the dinner table, coffee still on,