How’s the sky on one’s skin
When what billed its time in tears
Breathes to concealed clocks,
In all that’s beyond the now:
Lighter, as your smile
Fades from the face on the Moon
Raining in falling stars?
Heavier, for other eyes
Stop consuming its dark berries
Which pool, amble, stall and rot?
Different.
As this Sun sets on the limen
Of shadowcharred trees
I see a little more clearly
For what you taught me to see;
I see a little less clearly
As I weepingly pay my debt
Letters to myself: a diary 