The sunset bleeds across your name,
a slow gold wound I never close;
I taste the salt of leaving in every color that it throws.
Your shadow rides the folding light,
a quiet colt that won’t come home;
I whisper “stay” to empty air,
the sky replies in monochrome.
Night climbs the dunes of our old hours,
each star a match you struck and dropped;
I burn them all again till dawn,
a rosary of almosts counted soft.