sparks into september skies, for a moment
near-fireflies, a hundred dreams
of unlived stories in this dance. and nothing
is as soft as the blue of dusk, wearing its first veil of dark.
we watch; the geese are wild and go south. (the wind pulls them along
in frayed out ribbons)
we watch and become south, our very own warmth,
with nowhere to go.
night settles here, blinking wild white eyes.
(i set myself in bone, bleached bright under this gaze
and nothing is as soft.)