At the border between the past and the future No sign on a post warns that your passport Won’t let you return to your native land As a citizen, just as a tourist Who won’t be allowed to fraternize with the locals.

No guard steps out of a booth to explain You can’t bring gifts back, however modest, Can’t even pass a note to a few friends That suggests what worries of theirs are misguided, What expectations too ambitious.

Are you sure you’re ready to leave, To cross the bridge that begins Under a clear sky and ends in fog? But look, you’ve started across already And it’s one lane wide, with no room for U-turns.

No time even to pause as drivers behind you Lean on their horns, those who’ve convinced themselves Their home awaits them on the other side.