Perhaps we are all translated, transformed in our travels, turned in our journeys, changed in our exchanges every day. But I am broken. A single synapse moved and settled in a different quadrant of my brain. An artery never reached my left hand. Memories rewired or gone. I am altered. No one will know. No one will notice. Not even I will see my losses. I am full of light, full of space as empty and celestial as the space I traveled. It is the wild and wise way of progress in this moment pulled together after being pulled apart. A patchwork person stitched with science put forth on a teleporter—leaving lightyears littered with precious pieces. A specimen of success destroyed by destiny, destination. Broken. Rent. I return here and now—only somewhat whole.