The moon rises earlier each night
That’s a sight I can see and be certain of its reality.
Something unlike this.
The time ticks past and is somehow semi-permanent
As I sit waiting.
With the sense of regret and neglect hanging like the low moon of the early evening.
An evening was all that was planned, of duration time, all dated and set.
Something to represent the desire, of relaxation and little regret.
A fixation I wanted fixed.
A friendship formed, gradual and continuous
Something new started, sudden and ambitious.
I sit and wait some more and hope for the knock.
Look to the the door, the clock, the floor.
Out the window the moon rises, earlier each night.
At the sight, I know it’s time.
I turned out the lights.