Like a pilgrim, I always save the last loaf
And anticipate
Placing it silently on the table
next to  the salt and pepper holders
When I reach home and there,
unwilling  to disturb 
the nocturnal sleep of a native land
I put off my sleepwalking episodes
And  tip-toe my way back to bed.

To my mind,  this is salubrious living
Preferable to any tumult spectacle
Lacking  any  real depth.
Under the stellar ferment,
There are plenty of heights  to look up to
And  embrace  the order of things.
For a soul being at peace with the world
will resemble
A peregrine falcon spreading his wings.

Un comentariu: