Neither moon nor I
sleep much; now April sun tries
to shake us awake.

Rings under eyes, moon
slowly sips its coffee sky,
nibbles pastry clouds.

Somehow we doze.  May?
Did I dream?  Do moons?  Is this
winter dreaming spring?

Lonely?  Sometimes, but
scores count on us. No time for
sorrow; plus, we're free.

Overslept again.
To work: I toward my desk, moon
to yawning mountains.

I wish "good morning";
a guard taps a watch and grins:
"Yes, good afternoon!"