Late in the day, a day too far gone
to counter with sudden urges or well laid plans,
I read how Abraham wandered from valley to valley
with his goods. I had figured him for a desert rat,
a collector of invectives no-one needs,
but he was only looking for a place to pitch his tent
and pasture his cattle, to live well.

It's like that now-journeys that become
an impulse to laugh along with the stars at our fortunes.
In the cabaret below me,
someone warms up an accordion.
And if that music won't break my heart
the loner seated there as always
stretches out his carafe of wine, anticipating
what fun the place will provide
...