A Draft at Dawn

Insomniac nights suckle on verses
with half closed eyes. Dawn demands
a first draft: Dance steps on dusty
moons. Now holding hands. A song.

Quotes, repetitions of love tunes.
What’s unique, what’s undone?
Thoughts won’t flock. Arrive at stations
reserved for lonesome passengers.

Always on time, never right. Check
The years after the years to come.
Where are we to disembark?
Whom with, and from whom apart?