Woke up too early.

Not in a tragic way—
    just that odd kind of

    “how did I get here”

    4 a.m. logic.

You were still dreaming,
    somewhere near Wrigley.

Me?

Just me and Ray.

“I was Born to Love,” he sang.
   I hadn’t even thought
   to press play—

   but it was perfect.

Not quite a sign,
    but _not nothing_, either.

It felt like
   a shareable song,

   the kind you don’t wait to send.

The kind that says:
                   I’m up.
                   I miss you.
            And I, I like the ache.

I’ll be up again tomorrow,
     watching your plane
     slip down toward morning.

We’re flight buddies again.

There’s coffee for that.

But I don’t really need to wait
    for the coffee to wake up.

There’s you for that.