4:30 a.m.—fake-wake.
     I text: “It’s Monday.”

8:30 a.m.—your 🙌🏾 “Hallelujah!” lands.
              (Good morning received.)

Five hours to wheels-up,
     coffee in the tank,

     bag convinced to behave.

I count in small things:
         charger coiled,
            door locked,
            ride called,
             gate found.

Nine hours to the hug—
     give or take a runway,
                   a plane,
                     train,
                       car…

     all serving a singular cause.

Time, please cooperate.
      I’m light today,
      all carry-on and hope,

      headed east on purpose.

Hug minus nine,
    shrinking with each minute—
                   each step,
                   each sip,
                   each sky.

Let’s get this Monday moving.