I don’t think the sunset cares if you think
it’s pretty or not. It cares if you blink
while its colors sprawl across the dusk sky;
you should know better than to let it fly by —
your life — wait longer for it,
let light linger on our pale skin a bit.
I think death is dark and maybe you do
too. Maybe we have to let our eyes fade blue
and burn dark black in the face of these colors. The sunset is lying
to us. Wait for the colors, it says, while we are dying.
We let the time tick by as we face this
bowing eternal figure, the sun, as if we get bliss.
We don’t. We can’t. I lay here with you and we are fighting
over our inability to focus our eyes, let them sparkle off into the lighting.