Over the mountain, in the distance,
The world is turning its back
And tears the day off like a shirt.
Has been kneeling for a whole day on the stratosphere
And colours the haze of the hour with its blood pink.
Such delicate skin the sky has.
More like a breath —or the nightly foliage
Of a tree against the stars. I g a z e a s
The light from that distant star missed every leaf
And buries itself without a sound into my face coldly.
Look: the bedroom lights are going out.
The lizards are calling each other in the dark.
Your memory lights my face faintly, like that starlight
Falling constantly on me; a steady flow
Of dying light that is too weak to cast a shadow
But can still make my eye whites blue and the sockets purple.
We are drowning in breath.
We are dying of life.
We are flying, like meteorites
That burn for an instance as they dance
And disappear into the night behind my desk lamp
As moths have done for generations.