He soaked in a tub of hot water, lavender essence, ginger root shavings, and a few drops of rosemary oil. He closed his eyes listening to the soft music of Ravi Shankar— sitar and a female voice, and some flute. His mind wandered back to Thailand, and Vietnam. The monasteries, people, and street food. His heart broken, his savings spent, his soul replenished.
I can see the picture. Vivid display of words and I can sympathize with him too.
And that is what poetry is all about.