• The petals lie dried and falling,
    the wind drifting it into a fading glow.
    Horses gallop into the plains where the air
    is cold and the sky is an evermore blue.
    We grasp after the star that dissolves into
    the horizon and yet we can never catch
    it. Our flames run rapidly amid the sky,
    the licks of flames caught with phosphorus.
    Time falls from these hands like sifting sands
    in these last moments I share with you. The
    soft hues of the dawn fade into the parallel
    lines that reflect on our eyes. They seem to say
    goodbye, but why say goodbye? The fireflies
    spin across this infinite sky through the fields
    and unto the hollow graves. These graves,
    these graves of fireflies blow lithely on these
    silver winds.