Dearest, where are you? I wonder sometimes if you work at night and sleep during the day. I try to imagine what it's like where you work - I imagine a huge space station, as in a sci-fi movie, a vast humming thrumming overscale complex filled with mysteriously blinking computers, personnel soberly regarding screens, floors and walls - all surfaces - supersmooth and painted either battleship gray or possibly accented with primary colors (critical pipes leading mysteriously this way and that, for example) though perhaps the floors are rough, poured concrete. You wear a hardhat maybe, and I can imagine you directing people in your quiet steady way. There's no daylight where you work - I imagine it's like the Ikea I visited in Red Hook, the one that opened a couple of years ago, a vast contained world of its own, berthed to the waterfront, into which containerships unload.
If you are checking one of the monitors now, or your iPhone, then you know that I am just now thinking of you & giving you a kiss. Now you can return to your analyses and estimates, to your clipboard, to the men upstairs, and to the men whose language you too speak.
Darling, after a night's work, perhaps you emerge at dawn, and it's a bleak vast waterfront - or maybe it's pretty okay, maybe it's exciting, maybe they've figured out how to combine heavy-industrial uses with human-scale pedestrian ones. Perhaps there is a patch of flower garden - because over there it's early May too - and so I hope that, from the life-supporting yet inhospitable space station that never sees daylight, you can emerge, blinking against the sun, groping pockets perhaps for your sunglasses - or no, it's always a half-dim gentle light over there, isn't it - so no need for shades, plus it's early morning. And the sun is rising, or has risen, and there's a light mist over the water, shrouding the industrial waterfront and black flatbed ships with colorful containers like stacked toy blocks in a cool gray veil. And you're by yourself there, or on occasion with a simpatico colleague, and it's morning so perhaps you're headed for coffee - or maybe a beer - and you step along a constructed path in early morning light, and there, as you head to your car, is a touch of the humanscaled & civilized, a border of springblooming shrubs - lilacs, azaleas, concupiscent blooms reaching. You pause, bend to sink your nose, lurching aswirl a vision of beloveds, fragrant gasp and sigh, heady bloom of love. Smile on your face as you think with love of those you so love, you pat for your keys. The door unlocks as you arrive to get in.
Good morning, darling - or good night, whichever the case may be. XOXO
please don't tell me you're to be in T'town tomorrow