You will find my name left in ruins, skeletal cacti and that half a moon so far away. It sticks like twilight shadows, desperate to touch every skin. It falls like rain, soaking each breath through. It clings like kisses, that flavor of sulk and surprise. Lit dimly, only finding focus further past alone. Something carefully forgotten, never spoken of again.
This is that sky, so far away. That least hint of a chill spilling down in the night. The prayer for rain answered in paint and fire, clouds tattered for as long as seeing lasts, the horizon all burning rags. This is that depth reached towards or dug down where the stones do not go. That mass only found in shadow, that scripture of flowers and shreds. The call so hoped for, so far from this least reason, so near it might bite.
Twilight left all of the sudden, silhouettes of mosquitoes and the moon up atop the tree. Every step was something brittle and certain, an open door letting out all the light. Leaf and twig, flesh and bone. Walking so uncertain and so artless, some comic rhythm left for the weather to devour, something for the season to sink through. You wouldn't know me if you knew me, so much grace and luck. You will not find me curling smoke towards the stars, waiting for your voice. Just that word, spat out like so much rind.