My desire is a different sun going down and down and I too am falling, pulled and curled to the shape of the earth, disappearing or already gone. Don’t say tomorrow. Don’t climb to the edge of a cliff and look out. I’ve placed the horizon deep into a small hole with my hands made and remade a hundred times just to see what is done to the under air. Nothing is ever diminished. Remember me slipping out of your arms. Remember my body like the heat that leaves your breath. Imagine my arms as some dying language and the afterglow is me and I am the indefinite sky, how I open and open like a mouth with no sound, my skin half full of smoke and sundown. See how there is no sun and only rain like a billion apologies, all the quiet trying hard to break away into living. It is almost like touching. I’ll never know enough to know how to translate a body back into something bearable. I think it has to do with emotion. I think it has to do with dirt and air and silt and stars over and over and then the wind so loud it becomes a tall black bell tower ringing. I think it has to do with leaving everything.