Makeshift Heart XVII: that awful time

That awful time
Before she wakes but
After the rest of the laggy planet
Has faded to its common but
Separate pursuits distracted
By that easy call to truth without
Sufficient reply, in truth,
Once more, dear friend, am I even now
Sailing into separate years.
(Like any others made up of days.)
Old mates, old children, well may we
Cling, for all the pity where,
Cruel vicinity our mistress
The rubbing group our truth,
You – and me – all we can say this was
Was a statement itself.
What we did or said however trivial
And forgotten and dull, or radiant
It’s all the same at this hour:
We show up to dance.