So Where Do You Live?

To tell the truth, not just respond to your reflexive questioning,

I ought to answer with a litany of which the city

Is the first thing on the list, my address next. Or should I start with

Continent and state? And if you wish to reach my voice alone

Herewith the digits of my telephone. But, to be sure, I could

Destroy the small talk that you wish to start to fill the time until

This plane takes off in this—is it really fog?—I could still add a

Few things more, among them, here, this suit I wear and, layered beneath

Its complicated surfaces are underwear and socks under the

Leather of my shoes. And given that these coverings get wrinkled

Up in use, get sweaty, smelly, and so on, multiple copies

Of these habitations reside in drawers, hang in closets, wait

On the floor in polished rows. Where do I live? I live in these, but

There is more—or rather a corrective. My body lives in these,

And I, whoever that “I” really is, lives in the body that

In turn lives in my clothes that live inside the house, at that address

And on this continent. And I, within this most mysterious self—

To reach the end, naught left behind—I, dear sir, live in my mind.