From Whoever You Were

This isn’t a dream,
Only a daydream.
You’re in an airport,

Mysteriously
Emptied of other
Traveling humans,

Sealed and abandoned.
Water fountains work,
Whatever that means.

You’re not hungry yet.
The daylight’s pale green
Through terminal glass.

The floors are gleaming.
You settle yourself
On a window bench.

No planes are out there,
Only flat tarmac.
How this is freedom.