I migrate in vain
In every city I drink the same coffee
and resign myself to the waiter’s impassive face
The laughter of nearby tables
disturbs the evening’s music
A woman walks by for the last time
In vain I migrate
ensuring my own alienation
I find the same crescent moon in every sky
and the stubborn silence of the stars
In my sleep I speak
a medley of languages
and animal calls
The room where I wake
is the one I was born in
I migrate in vain
The secret of birds eludes me
as does my suitcase’s magnet
which springs open
at each stage of the journey