In such a place, one goes about one's business. Lyricism in man is something like the consistuent of some kind of wandering. Putting one's thought on trial of the wasteland means that one accepts being driven, called, filled again and again. It doesn't mean handling concepts but answering a flow of astounding images. Thus, in both utopia and absence, presence can assert itself.
Lyricism first compels every one's availability to some kind of trial.
A path does exist, which our steps invent. Such a line appears all of a sudden, then becomes blurred, draws itself again, it lasts hardly the short while of our stroll. Our capacity to pace and increase such a field falls both on to our stamina and our marvelling. The more we walk, the more it does exist.