The Registration Office  

We have a permanent dwelling in a body

that travels between two oceans,

but there is enough room for all of us,

according to the local law for foreigners.

Normally we reside in it,

only when we go running in the morning do we

often take refuge somewhere safe until

the housing warms up. When it is leaving

to go to work, we get together to stare at the screen,

bring it coffee, wind the nerve endings

into ringlets, just feeling homesick

we lean against the window and count the planes

in the sky. When it catches the flu we

duck low in the hope that the established

rules of the house will not be overturned:

first of all duty, obstinacy follows ambition,

and then pleasure. If it weren’t for the serving women who

do the tucking in, cool down the feverish body,

none of us would have a roof over our heads.