He steps in before the light sorts itself,
carrying that slight forward set
of someone who entered the world
before the hour was ready for him.
Hey, Monday—you’re early again.
As if timing has always found us this way.
He looks at me with that same
unspoken recognition,
as if he notices the sideways way
I once arrived ahead of my own date,
how both of us were brought in
before the room was prepared
for whatever might follow,
standing in the same unfinished hour.
.