travel

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?

 

--Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979)

Done