To the woman I met at the Dulles airport, headed to Charlotte

I heard you talking to your husband and teenagers about travel, how often you travel, and I turned to you, just like that

I asked you a question about traveling versus living, where the lines blur, carrying home around like a briefcase, or a pillowcase full of sweets, a treasure chest, an altar

You said you can understand how one can feel that way, how one can live anywhere

I told you about Salvation Mountain, you haven’t been there, but you’ve been to the Salton Sea (have you “lived” at the Salton Sea? I wish I could have asked

I’ve lived there)

And you said you were heading to Charlotte, your “most slept in bed” — that morning you woke up in Rome, you said

When you asked where I was going, I said Florida, but didn’t say why

That wasn’t important

 

What’s important is this: You offered me a new perspective — This is the state where I get the most sleep, cumulative hours of sleep

 

Wherever I go, I work.

Life is art and art is work.

 

In Charlotte, I said goodbye to you as I picked up my suitcase, ran to my next plane, never asking for any sort of way to stay in contact

You didn’t ask either, but there was no need

because in life, time collects itself and grows

 

Yes, that is life / and in turn, that is art.

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