Terminal V

Where next will my travels take me?
That pilgrimage,
New York and back -
I’ve shoved my hands in pockets,
lay my face on an airline tray table.
To a bright street in a dark city,
and from there shortly snipped
what was left of a thin thread.

As I reached the end of the jetway,
I clawed, but the hand was batted away.
The cold metal tube stared back at me,
buried in dust.