What I want to do is sit with you, not
See you off, under dock lights that swallow
Star twinkles like they were nothing at all

Saturnine night thus illumes distant quay . . .
Transports await their time / we say goodbyes
Persistent, lapping waves conjure minds’ eyes

Bellies buckle under weight of concern
—Gone . . . light of the wharf having fallen
You’ll see as you sail away, light of day

Dawn’s glorious sun, gleaming momentum
Beyond that of ours, or our many stars
Clearing haze of quayside’s smallest hours.