Even the most beautiful of littoral days
Screaming the sweet mango song out of my heart until it subsides
beneath the silver sea like a dream fresh-bouqueted beneath the drapes of a knight
Even the irreplaceable day whose departure wrenches
me across canyons via chafing zip lines with no landing point in sight
At least from the beginning it is understood: exactly 24 hours will be allotted
Me and every other sentient earthling, without prejudice, nor any chance of extension
Upon the predetermined strike upon the clock, the cut is clean
No messy hope that the same sun will whisker golden across my feet
any other morning
No chance of still or again means no shock, no mourning beyond
the heaviness of eyelids between waking.
But friendship, sunset-splattered and pomegranate-rich as it is
so it claims, makes no promises and sets no specific deadline
of abandonment and therefore every meeting of eyes or laughter
is a threat.
At any time the sun could fall
darkness a guillotine through my trust
It only took one cloud to change your high noon to dust
So I promise myself to never wake up again at all.