Waiting

At half past ten, there is a woman who waits for me
in the dark, on a bench, at a bus stop, with midnight in her eyes
She waits for me to sit with her, and I can see the moon in them
waiting to travel south, she waits for them, honors them under the black
sky, and I sit next to her, and I wait with her, I wait for midnight to rise
inside my eyes, I wait for tomorrow to arrive, though my eyes remain
half past ten, and the woman waits next to me, waits for me.