What I find / speared / on my fork is not / what was on my plate. / I fear / there’s been a mistake, / a miscalculation. / Each morning / I fast-walk / past camouflaged shelters / where / yesterday’s heroes hide from us. / In a better world / I would fall up / to meet this sweet rain / halfway. | Airports are where belief in progress still survives. / Everyone queues for a miracle: / transformation by departure. / The body submits to metal detectors, / the soul to delay. / Screens whisper your name in code. / You move when they tell you— / toward light, toward air.