Friday went fast—
       work a blur,
       then Oscar’s lit *up*.

Davis Brothers on the green-light stage:
      Harvey on stand-up bass,
      Braylen on guitar and lead,

      three and a half hours that made the room breathe again.

I haven’t seen Oscar’s that alive in ages.
           (Hope I get to watch them grow.)

Meanwhile you—
    Nelly with your BFF,
    then an Irby’s ambush after,
    our usual asynchronous thread…

    texts and pictures stitching two nights together.

Somewhere around last call—
     you: “Wish you were coming Monday.”
      me: “Dentist on Monday.”
     you: “Reschedule.”

Didn’t take much.
          (I did.)

Now it’s our split-screen Saturday—
    me at Oscar’s with the Jackets on,
    you on the couch with Coal,
    trading commentary and little smiles

    across the line that never really breaks.

First and Monday—
      two days to go,
      luggage half-zipped in my head,

      flight already humming in my chest.

We’ll be back where we belong,
      same room,
      same breath,
      the weekend folded neatly between us—

      your head,
      my shoulder,
      the rest of it finally quieting.

Until then,
      I’ll replay the band,
             your pictures,
                our thread—

      all the small proofs
      that carry me from here to there,
      from Saturday ’til Monday, this time.