There, above the edge,
I see a frayed ribbon of cloud
hiding your fading twilight eye.

Fortunately, it’s not dark yet,
and I can still feel
your deflated ray of light
caressing my clenched hand —
as if you know
how the sense of humanity
has drained from the land,

And why every breath
I swallow
tastes like a fistful
of desert sand.

Editor: Erynn Crittenden