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.