To the Sun

We love you like idiots, your teetering meshed vanilla breath and conflagration, and are suffused by desire, every straining bit of flesh aligned with your motley fading visions. If just once you didnt disappear, wed transform our lust for proximity into belonging, go fresh into unlit territory. If every advance wasnt retreat, enclave of ancient bent light, we wouldnt regard your loss so anxiously. Instead, our lips still slip awkwardly, tense up too suddenly. Indicate, spent day, what to do with our few remaining moments. Share your sensibility about drifting in time. Its not too late. Guru of the vast horizon! Pontificate!

Drew Robert Brown, www.brownalerts.com