We are returning
Halfway across the world
Through white smoke, snow and sand
To return to the memories you kept hidden
In a brown shoe-box under your bed
To be blazed at through the open window
And between the yellow potted tulips
The day does not ask for an invitation
When he too is merely returning
The baker to his bread
The mothers to their mothers
The apes to their shrewdness
The nation to its history
« return.