I wanted to tell you
that I just watched the sunset.

The last 10 degrees sunk below the mountains
in real-time.

We say “I watched the sun set,”
when really we mean
“I watched the world turn.”

Our feet are rooted to the ground;
our eyes live on the horizon.

A lingering blossom of auburn
and dripping red
and yellow and pink
and pillowed blood golden sky now fades
up
into the coming blue hour.

Only in these slices of time
do I feel allowed
to be—

perhaps because
I’m watching
the sun set
and not the world turn.

The earth revolves in constancy;
the sun sets in a moment.

Yes, this also means
I should
remember
to hold on
to such a feeling.

Yes.

So we persist in the knowledge
of the fact
that we have different words
for “life”
and “death”.

Life revolves in constancy;
death arrives in a moment.

We inhale and exhale,
rooted to the revolution,
trees of bone and dead stars,
veins of ocean water,
skin of salt and the electric,
eyes open
/
only
/
in slices
/
of time
/
that permit us
/
to break with gravity,
or find a safe orbit
in one another.

Twilight fades into the blue,
deep now in the coming dark.

No.

Not darkness. Look.
(I know you would
if you were here.)

spattered,
innumerable,
dancing with us through the void.