Closing the day, going back to remembered dusk and your heart on a spoon,

Dreamland is a little too far among the gray things, but

you see the day's tears like the end of a dream, its kind

but sorrowful temperament. You seek out

the loss written in the head's tears on the silk flowers

of June's permanent pair of spectacles.

The beauty of her remembrance clouds the outline

of the far body of chlorophorm that

fills your lungs, making the dusk less obvious

and your heart jump to your throat. So now

you're sitting on the closing of the deep things that kept

you so broken for so far and your dusk is Dreamland again and

the lids above your dark regards drop slowly over,



closing.