At the Airport

Waiting on the Arrivals level
   where the escalator delivers up
its boluses of travelers after
   their subway ride from the International
Concourse, I watched a woman
   with short hair pace but keep her eye
on the appearing faces. After
   maybe half an hour, a man
stepped off the rising stairway and ran
   in that woman’s direction, while she
held her hands to the sides of her head
   till he stood before her. Then
they embraced. They held each other
   on and on, close as two
clothed persons in a public space
   could get. Barely moving,
they remained this way, while I, 
   still waiting for my arriving
company, had plenty of time
   to imagine these lovers’ lives,
their long separation (was it for war
   or money, or important studies?),
and how, now, with their bodies,
   they promised each other more
eternity than either could ever
   deliver, but were, in that silent
utterly mutual oath, telling
   one another the truth.