Just past customs--nothing to declare--
weeping, gnashing, keening
man on floor head and hair in hands
brown napkin set neatly beside him
as if to hold a pebble there
weeping, keening, gnashing
"He is weeping" I heard my voice
phalanx of silent guards standing
one guard's eyes focused on a middle
distance as underneath him
man weeping gnashing keening
Failed to take a photograph
Failed to lean over to touch him
Failed to say to the guard the man
was suffering sentient agony
public stage like a creche
the man a holy infant hurt
Pilgrims flowing by self-
contained controlled hurrying
in our bodies striding past
my husband so intent on making
our connection he failed
to hear this primal sound
May he be free of suffering
happy (if such is it)
free from this stage/cage prison
echo chamber did you hear
him my fellow travelers can you
move away without coming
back to anguish
shared but not spoken
no eyes in contact
no water bottle
no tissue
We made our flight--
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