when a cool breeze’s hands are kinder against your flushed skin, you know your relationship is about to end. and he loved you once, he truly did, but that doesn’t mean he’ll love you ’til the end. no, love can rise and set like the sun, and you’ll know this on a day like today. ’cause his breath is hitched and the tears pool in his eyes, but together you’ve seen this sunset a hundred times, so you know it is not that.

carefully, you take his hand without moving your head off his shoulder, do not let him know you sense him hurting. because without you he wouldn’t ever known what life is, so loosing his safety net feels like you’re stringing him out for death to collect.

soon you come back, and realize all the sunsets do not look the same, it only ever felt that way when you were with him. and as the last taste of the day lingers in your mouth, you think about the way you kissed him, and how the passion died out.

yes, cold sunsets happen every day now, because you can never look at days the same again. you learned to love but instinctively you managed to stop, tell me, has your love grown temporary like the sun?

I shake my head at the dashboard, staring at the black interior of my car.

Get out of the car.

My hands are still gripping the steering wheel, but the engine is off. Outside the car the evening sun shimmers against the grass. It's beautiful and horrible all at once.

Everything is silent.

I twitch forward, my shoulders hunching, but my hands still find the door handle. I open the car door and swing my feet outside.

The evening breeze blows, and I see that no one is around. The trees lean towards me, the wind whispering things in my ears.

Go on.

The sun slants through the trees, painting warped pictures on the grass.

I look away, reaching back into my car and taking out the bouquet of flowers I bought. White roses. I have no idea if they're your favorite, but that's what I got.

My car door slams shut, the sound of it seeming so loud. I shut my eyes, listening to tree branches shudder nearby and birds chirping far away.

The wind picks up, and I shiver.

Opening my eyes, I weave my way through the open air. It's slicing at me, cold and thick and making it hard to breathe.

My eyes skim over the stones until I come upon the one I'm looking for.

Your name, carved neatly into the stone.

I crumple to the ground, the white roses scattering onto the grass. The remaining sunlight makes them look golden.

I whisper your name as the wind howls around me. My jacket flaps and one of your roses gets blown away.

I look up to see it fly past the other gravestones, and see the sky. The sun is setting. You would have thought it was beautiful.

I gather the remaining white roses back into a bundle. The sky is darkening, and I watch as the sunset spills new colors onto the grass: orange, pink, purple, navy.

I watch the whole thing, shaking as the temperature drops even more. By the time the sky has darkened completely, my breathing is even despite my body being numb with cold.

Even though you weren't there, I like to think you watched that cold sunset with me.

Beaded condensation

camouflages

the bubbles

trapped along the lip

of

an aqua, blue-green glass,

wide-mouth,

Atlas Mason jar,

chilled

with crackling ice cubes,

suspended

in a lake

of sugar-sweet sun tea,

melting, slowly,

like liquid gold

on the hot cement

of

afternoon’s waterfront walkway,

(an estuary

of

beaded condensation

collecting

along the aqua,

blue-green glass rim

of the earth’s atlas

at eventide).

Hour hands

pull at eve’s prise

&

the galaxy’s gold token

drops into

Summer’s slot machine.

Warm westerly winds wisp

Cool Whip cream clouds,

as they are spun

against the bowl

of the Helios-hued horizon

like airy webs of

crystallin-cotton cane sugar.

The first reel begins to slow

as cherry-red channels

are chiseled

throughout

the once white ribbons

in the window

of summer’s frame.

Tangerine tints

trace

the tattered edges

of the skyline

as the second reel twirls,

tethered

within dusk’s brilliant borders.

Day is lost

as the final casement

yields

a sunny-yellow lemon

resting on the edge

of

Evening’s infinity pool.

Beaded condensation

collects

upon the tawny flesh

above the lips

of an aqua blue-green eyed

southern belle,

gazing gold’s glint,

gone

in favor of the House,

again.

She waits

and holds her breath,

weighing heavy

in the hot, humid air,

gathered to a still

in the center of the storm.

Lightning splits open

the crushed velvet cache

&

thunder resounds

like sirens peel silence.

Decadence of diamonds

spills from heaven

&

quenches her thirsty skin

as triple digits

lose

thirty degrees

in minutes.

She walks away a winner

and will bet again tomorrow

on the hot streak

of

Summer monsoons

&

their cold sunset flush.

You are a sunset

On a Winter's day

The space around you frigid

Your soul warm

I looked forward to your show

Despite a freezing reality

That you covered

With your sunny brilliance

Still I flew too close

On wax wings I fell

And I learned

That looks can be deceiving

So I stayed far

Hating your presence

Yet loving your colors

And I learned to prefer the cold

As the sun slipped

below the horizon,

so did you.

Your warmth faded

with the light

and my hand felt lonely.

It was a cold sunset,

the first of many.

I get the train going East. It’s the only one that’ll take me the whole way home. The station’s got that early morning feel to it, people smoking in corners and wrapped up in sweaters they know’ll be too warm by noon. We used to get so hot, building railways. Even in the middle of winter, even when it reached minus 50.

I been here five years. I ain’t been home since. Not that I’m complaining, weren’t much work where I grew up. I’d just turned seventeen when I heard about opportunities out West. So I packed a change of clothes and made my way over. A couple of the boys from the local town came with me.

We weren’t expecting special treatment or nothing. We all know high standards never did the likes of us any good. Seven of us would share a room, with no bed and no carpet. We ate a lot of beans during these five years. None of it mattered. Mostly we were so tired we woulda slept anywhere, eaten anything.

I wired through the rest of my wages to my family. Made me feel good, putting food on Ma’s table.

I hear the train rattle. If trains were people, this one’s a rickety old man. I pat my pockets, squeeze my ticket. I find a seat by a window, near an old man snoring, his jaw hangs open. I look back at the station. For the first time it doesn’t just look like a dusty pile of wood. It looks like a memory. I’m fonder of it now that I’m finally going home.

There weren’t many white folks working where I was. Some of them talked about how beautiful countryside can be. I didn’t say nothing, it wasn’t the kind of thing I ever noticed. I ain’t ever got much sightseeing done. Sightseeing’s for rich people. If I wanted to stop along the way, I’d have to buy two tickets instead of one.

The train eases out the station, past a meat market. People walking around. There’s a man on a stage, kids playing hopscotch, just minding they’s business. I never ridden through town before. I never really looked at it. When I walk, see, it’s to get somewhere. Work home food sleep. East to West, West to East, eyes on the floor, my hands in my pockets.

I wonder what Ma will say when I get back. She don’t know I’m coming home. Even if I could write letters, she couldn’t read them. She’ll want me to start working on the farm with my older brothers, regardless.

The train rides past a river. It’s a big mass of blue and grey water, and it shines in the spring sunshine. If the train stopped, I coulda jumped out and swam in it.

Work and going back East was the reason I never made no friends here. No one to swim with, at least. Friends complicate things. They want you to stay places, go places. Me, I just get the job done.

I know what my future looks like, what it’s got to be. Earn some money, take my ma to church, meet a girl, settle down. It’s just what I’m supposed to do, before I die.

I hope this old train breaks down. I ain’t done much, I realise, ain’t seen much. Ain’t even heard much except the sound of hammers and metal for the past five years. There’s hills out in the distance, but they’re framed by the window. Like they’re not real. They rush past, I ain’t got time to look.

I listen to the whirr of the engine and start praying for it to purr like a broken whistle. That’s how you know it’s broke. If it broke down in the middle of nowhere, I’d get out, walk into what I never seen. It’s green here, greener than home. Maybe there’s valleys and forests and fields I could explore. I wonder what there’d be to see.

I want this old train to break down. Not to inconvenience no one. But life’s got too fast, and I ain’t in no rush to get home. I’d have to pick up where I left off, pretend I’m the man they want me to be, and let life pass me by. Eat sleep work, work eat sleep, and then all over again. I’m struck by all the people I’ll never get to meet, and the things I’ll never see. If the train broke down, time must stop for me, let me see the journey with my held high, instead of my eyes always being on my feet. But I got no time to get to where I don’t need to be.

The train slows down only for the stops along the way. The old man wakes up, waddles off into a town I ain’t never heard of. A lady with three kids gets on. The kids are screaming and then crying and then laughing. If the train broke I’d play hopscotch with them.

We reach my hometown in the evening. Town’s quiet, most respectable people are inside their homes, eating or sleeping. I take the shortcut through the forest. When I see my ma’s house, I drop my bag and turn to look out. I grew up here, and yet I don’t think I ever noticed how big the sky is here. The fields are shining now under the light of a cold sunset. I breathe the crisp air in and listen to the world fall asleep. Birds and the like are quietening down, an owl flies silent across.

I stand there a long time, just staring. It’s like I’m seeing it all for the first time.

As the bright flaming orb

s

i

n

k

s

s

l

o

w

l

y

between the folds of the Earth and sky,

colors swell

and frolic

twirling

happy to be free again

Yellow

Bumblebee

Honey

Gold

Pink

Coral

Peach

Salmon

Rouge

Purple

Amethyst

Violet

Eggplant

Blue

Cobalt

Azure

Navy

Indigo

Black

Colors.

THESE colors.

They rise.

Rise like royalty

to crown the peaks of mountains

and dance on lake surfaces

and gambol with the clouds.

And in all their glory,

their brilliance,

their vividness,

they chill the air,

inviting the starlings out

to sing and dance and play.

The starlings twinkle merrily

playing checkers in the sky.

And though they live

in the shadows of color,

they learn to laugh, they learn to be

inside their chilly parody.

a small chance realized

a call for help to your

home, toys strewn about

apologizing profusely

you let me in

and within the ten minutes

it take to throw a breaker

and try the switch, I fish out

the remnant of the die cast

metal from the disposal

You turn to yell and I

Say Please, he’s just a little

boy. You smile at me and

caress my cheek with your

hand sending shivers through me

Another ten minutes

and I have it all back

in order and get ready

to leave. You have a bottle

in your hand and say stay

So in the warmest night

in July, we share a bottle

as the kids play

and as the night wanes

too much of a good thing

And as I stand I feel your

hand in mine, I pull you

to me and find your lips

and your hand comes

to my chest pushing me away

“We can’t” you say

“its not that I don’t want to

I don’t want to be just a lover..

I deserve more than that”

I squeeze her hand and it falls away

And in my car,

on the hottest day

of the year, I roll down

the windows to warm up

as I drive into the cold sunsets

You and me and Endless rant,

Slow music and My fluffy cat,

Single blanket and your cowboy hat,

Fresh hot coffee with lids attached

My head on his shoulder which he often pat.