I look up and admire how
the night-sky carefully hugs a
universe of gas-filled clouds;
the way a mother
hugs her child returning from
war. I wonder if I can see
you up there, between the clouds,
safe,
home, but you have nothing
left
inside your corpse because I remember
you told me,
the sun nourishes its forest the way I
care for you and the forest
has since burned
down.
I want to believe that is how you
went. But I know you
always carried a lighter and enjoyed
watching your home burn down to the ground,
unite with grains of Earth,
rocks of past lives,
reduce to tears then gas then clouds then
You. Don’t you dare call me a sun
when I can’t feed myself to save my life but I have to
believe that is how you went.
The night is almost over now and ******* it there are no
visible clouds at night so why
do I repeat your mistakes? Why
have I turned my nights into
life and days into
Fear and hope into
You.
Maybe it is because I am not a
Sun, a son, a someone;
but merely flesh carefully
hugging bones the way a mother hugs
her child returning from
war. Maybe it’s because
I am scared of existing without
You.
Or maybe it’s because I know.
Baby I know.
The sun cannot hurt you at night.
Come back.
Exist.
Even if it’s in the form of rain.
Please.