When I notice the interminable, efficient,
Meshing of the gears of things,
The way aircraft arrive safely
More often than you might expect them to,
The way elaborate contrivances like refrigerators
Turn themselves on and off for years
Without giving anyone much trouble,
It occurs to me that entire masses of people
Are painlessly relocating themselves at any given moment,
And that now, for instance, someone is sitting next to
Sibyl on a train, or waiting in a station,
Expecting nothing but the impersonal, typical situation
Of being in transit with a stranger,
And sitting quietly, doing little, preparing to make small talk,
They are enjoying the last moment ever to be remembered as familiar
Or associated with any previous experiences.