I will not ever willing leave this place
where light is soft as Paris, clear as height,
where morning breeze is slick against my face,
my chin is cool and green expands my sight.
I’ll never move away from here, unless
the densities of population grow
too much to bear, and traffic stress
and pressured voices overwhelm my soul.

I’ll leave unwilling if I leave at all
except I may find latitude to play
if I abandon crowds. Perhaps I’ll crawl
to altitude, exported far away
from ocean’s breath — perhaps I’ll alter my
address, to somewhere private high and dry.