Lost to the horizon’s constant appetite for all that this sky above may hold Thin and straight, never-ending, swallowing the beauty that waits for us as we look up only to follow the minutes ticking away as fast as the journey
I have come to determine one night sitting on the front porch counting fireflies and missing you, (tearing up for my impending daily loss) that this place, this narrow slice at the end of this earth must surely consist of multi-colored liquid
For the splash made by the sun is more vibrant than anything I have ever witnessed Staining the western heavens with pastel swashes of glowing patterns until the wash fills with shade and is hidden by a new moon glow
and so it goes another moon, another night…without you