__back to our days__

I watch her, lazily, often mornings
once school lunches are made, sent,  
dishes and my 'business' done,
she'll sit
tapping, scrolling, scanning cyberspace,
waiting...
 
She waits for him, I know, a friend-
about ten hours of time gap
checks the clock
taking into account he's busy living:
flying...
 
Stories sung and boisterous banter  
flit across her face, relieved
grinning, gawking, seething squints-
she closes eyes
losing the now in been-and-done,  
and far-away and likely-not;
dreaming...
 
Motion once the clock tells
he's composing, or sleeping in deepest blue  
on moonlit truth.
Back to our days
but with future emerging from looming grays  
some way, still
smiling.