In the Last Hour of Light

Ending the world
the way we did
felt good—a slow flood
of sleep
after walking ourselves
weak—nothing between
the square of sunlit rest
the window marks
on the bed
for us and softening
like a swollen stream
the moments
it meets
the sea.

One thought on “In the Last Hour of Light”

  1. One response
    • Mikaela, March 19, 2012 at 12:29 pm
    This poem feels like bursting out of the ground into twilight. Exciting and fresh but exhausted at the same time. I like it—a lot!

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