On Leaving Home ,

I leave behind the dark hillside
enveloped with the mist
rushing down from the mountains
in sudden chilly gusts 

I leave behind the clapping
the stomping of feet
the words in season
the home in their smiles 

I leave behind the boards
creaking with our uncertain attempts
to make flesh of the words on the page
brought forth by the miracle of prophecy 

I leave behind the voices
the music in the uneasy vans
playing roulette with the traffic lights
and the chaos of pedestrians

I repeat the ritual of departure
as one would rehearse lines
remembering details
by the position of the head or hand,

  the climate, the angle of the sun
on the window, the noise
of mornings, I test them 
these small icons to see 

if  maybe I might miss them.
For days I carry out
this ritual of leaving until
I am sure I have mastered it. 

(Resisting the Anomie, p.86)