Old friends, sad hearts,
new ways and fresh starts,
seems the elements we lack
are starless nights and indigo,
blinking lights way up there,
people come then they go on-time,
reclined in seats, half-moon-bound flights,
wane gentle, then more, until no more.
I drink pekoe at night in the back;
in my cup I watch planets swirl.
© Chagall 2014