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Tenacity of Lace

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A place between 

good-bye and hello,

here and there –


today the airport is deserted.

Few fellow travelers

with whom it is safe

to share secrets,


and fewer behind counters,

who speak of baggage

carried or stowed away,

and of destination.


Instead of a smiling face,

a machine asks,

Do I need more time?

Time for what –


to get back

before that fatal heart attack,

say I’m sorry before death

changes everything?


Get a grip.

Angry at automation,

I press no –

no more time wanted


in this relative space

between too late

and forever.


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