Returning

Like somebody coming from distant countries outside

himself, arriving at last where he’s always been

and finding everything in its proper place,

the past in the past, present in the present,

so too the traveler arrives at old age

where he and his path become one.

He enters his home for the first time

and for the first time lies down on his bed.

Left behind are ports, islands, cities,

memories, times of year.

And finally he eats the primal bread

that does not taste of foreign words.