In this vulnerable, resting, sunset light
the eye is thickened with shadow, deepened by absence.
Things hang in space, ground down by being seen, transparent—
and the mode they exist in now
is their mode of fading away
The creating eye has weakened,
and the world that streamed—is almost already all sea;
whoever’s in front of me, behind me, at my side—
is me, but isn’t here.
And it’s already late. And the day’s over.
And we were left here, alone.
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