sunset over the dead sea

antes de 7 de la mañana,
el aire de afuera me pica mi garganta
y tengo problemas cuando trago.

that intermediate nearly-but-not half light
remembers dusk, remembers evening
shadows settled under your eyes
(which actually made them more attractive)
now lift to your forehead, hide in your hair.

they say early morning is tabula rasa,
the breeze refreshes the runners as they pass
and I lay on my back,
face to the sky, attention on mississippi.

dawn is still, the sun rises silently
and I am both alone and not alone,
entirely silent, entirely still.
morning.
--07/30/08