The Bus Stop? Poem by Dyhanara Rios

Sitting on the cold concrete curb,
I don't know if I'm awake yet.
Is this all just a dream?
My mind might be fooling me,
But it's too early to care.

I look down at my watch;
The hands point to six and three.
My hair is in tangles all over me,
But it's too early to care.

My carriage arrives in a flash
Of public transportation purple.
As flowers are graced with the presence of bees
I ascend the steps with smiles facing me,
But it's too early to care.
Wherever you are is where I want to be,
And I will meet you there.