The sun sinks like an egg yolk
on the horizon, into the black
pan of night.
Beneath, we sit side by side,
eyes stuck to it,
each acutely aware of the other.
In my memory it cracks
against the line of land,
spreading.
Its dredges reach us
and you tell me
you could do this again
tomorrow, and tomorrow,
and tomorrow--isn’t it
beautiful?—and the whites
of your eyes glow when you
turn to me,
the parts of egg no one wants
but that serve to
fill them up just enough.
on the horizon, into the black
pan of night.
Beneath, we sit side by side,
eyes stuck to it,
each acutely aware of the other.
In my memory it cracks
against the line of land,
spreading.
Its dredges reach us
and you tell me
you could do this again
tomorrow, and tomorrow,
and tomorrow--isn’t it
beautiful?—and the whites
of your eyes glow when you
turn to me,
the parts of egg no one wants
but that serve to
fill them up just enough.
