November 9th 2021
At evening, at an airport, at the join
of three different national borders,
a moth along a lance of sun.
It isn’t insufficient light
prevents us seeing
each other fully across
the streaked sphinx of the sky.
Something good and true never
lacks its defenders,
nor those who hope to destroy it,
but here, where world is open, now
through rings in ropes of snow,
don’t you go
inventing separate yous.