Here, the hourglass neck contracts the airport arrivals,
around, the glass of bubbles sheen from LCD screens,
bodies of sand stare at landing times then stare
at the bottled-doors that swing with sand-surges;
behind, glints of glass again, the duty free
gleams for the falling crystals; their sunrise to walk
from and into searching arms, glazed eyes
googling faces, finding foreign fissures
they instantly discard, until four arms outspread
lock, four puzzle-prongs inter-fixing, atomic
blending of all their positivity; tears and smiles
arising from the deadpan names held
by chauffeurs, static from their monotony of this,
business-suited, tightly-tied, an immovable circumference
on the cascades of trolleys and feet and shy
pecking lips; more aggressive is the extrovert
– and then me, impatiently rocking, nonchalantly pocketed
hands sweating, a chemical of time burning within,
what future could now begin,
as the hourglass turns and my world turns upside down.
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