a place you can leave;
your home is that spot
where you can't stand
to be, but nevertheless
can't stop;
it's the position you're in
and the attention
you command when
your ship's coming in,
and it's the face
that you make
while their train's
pulling out—
that grimace of stone
while you wave
very slow and refuse
any teardrops, as if
even the wind should know
to blow around you
on the platform,
because you have
never allowed
yourself
to be moved,
and you do not intend
to start now.