We are supposed to fall into classes, personalities, extremes, niches,
Am I, for example, a woman, a wife, a student, or a daughter?
A perfectionist, a procrastinator, or possibly both?
Plutôt à droite ou plutôt à gauche?

To all these questions I simply reply
That on sleepy Monday mornings I watch the fog come in
After a long, warm shower, and slowly melt away with the sun
And in the evenings the train transports me through the ghettos,
And around me sway entire cities of illuminated Chinese lanterns,
Almost collapsing with the breeze.

But permeating through us, great waves of humanity,
Gliding along rhythmically in this sea,
Far from the land of mutual exclusivity,
And I am far too mesmerized to choose.