In the setting sun our shadows touch,
and the light spreads thin below us.
Your eyes lie in wait,
poised like a trap, like the tip of a blade.
And I fall into your gaze
and sink into the depths, as you turn away.
The dying light claws the ground,
scraps my skin, and drags me down.
I stare into the sun to watch you walk away;
your shadow grows long as though it wants to stay.
Copyright 2008 by Dan Bach.