Maybe I only think that I like to be home,
A self-described home-body, my friends scoff in disbelief
Since I flit from place to place, Japan in April, a week in
Santa Monica, and how gazing out at the plane which will fly
Me to Massachusettts, vertigo be damned.
A chat on the bus with a Chinese scholar, another,
A Mexican father with his children, as we wait for the gate
To open, why not watch the last half of The Matrix
And what a thrill to see my friend waiting for me at Logan,
Some 42 years after we met on an Amtrak train.
Why not travel all the time, actions do speak louder
Than words.
On the road again.
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