We sit in small circles on plastic chairs,
Relearn each other, distance of a year,
And the evening grows dimmer, the glare
Of lights grows brighter here,

But it's a long time since we met.
Space snatches our next meeting.
In busy-ness, passing days, suns set -
Do we ever notice?

Meetings long-awaited,
Briefly lived, treasured as stars;
Each reminds the truth seldom stated:
Next time the lost chair may be ours.