The music of airports
is a soft and bitter
hum, oscillating about
the carpets’ burgundy
slalom.

It reverberates on
this girl’s leather luggage
straps, until they bow and slough
over at the final gate
entrance.

Under the glow of an
innocuous, blinking
light, my hands warm at the small
of her back and keep her
longer.

At distance, her turn,
the threshold is all gates
to all planes with small framed
windows and thumbnail
profiles.

And soon, I am pithed
and alone, left believing
I could hijack every
plane to find her.