How could I not linger over coffee
here in the Hofgarten, considering how often
enigmatic allusions have sent me scurrying—           
        libraries                       
            museums                                   
                opera houses           
        encountering                       
             questioning                                   
                struggling                                               
                    plumbing
profound depths:           
    my own ignorance                       
        set against a partial vision                                   
            unfathomed depths                                               
                unattained— 
I sip the coffee and relish the leafy silence,
and I marvel at the track my life has taken
because, on that day so many years ago,
I read Eliot—