It is departure always that amazes
not the claims of this or some other shore;
many make their homes in distant places.
Changes of light, time, heart, mere commonplaces
against the final closing of a door.
It is departure always that amazes.
Exile is sweet, when chosen, it effaces
all we have leanred, reveals what we must explore:
how we can make our homes. In distant places
meanders broaden. All praise is
due those turns we failed to take before.
Bless the departure, always. A maze is
what we make of our lives: impromptu braces
and timbers comfort the Minotaur
who finds himself at sea in open places.
Strange offspring! Our masks, our faces
fall as we strip them bare. What more
than departure possibly could amaze us
who have to make our homes in distant places?