"Do you see the sky?" I asked
as I waited for a response.

I waited,
and waited
and waited.

I realized that there wouldn't be one,
because the conversationalist
I speak to
(in my head)
has left.

The sun sets to the north of the mountains,
if you're standing in the front yard it's hard to see.

But I see it when I dream,
when I think of happier things,
I wonder why I feel so distant,

I wonder why when I pull my irises back into the socket where they sleep.

"Do you see the sky?" I asked
You responded, finally,

with the most dismal response one could conjur

"that I do."

When all I wanted,
was to share it with you.