Dusk arrives just the same,
the goodbye light tilted high or
the shadows standing up
tiptoed to stretch skyward as
I smoke and spill head to heel
with my back to the so long sun,
staring into the tide of night.
The moral of the story, the lesson
left on read, has fallen from
it’s nest. Broken pieces of
some meant to be, a body
left with nothing but
words and dirt to drape it.