No one is here tonight;
The sky is eggplant and valentines.
Ripples of pink and black stretch toward the horizon.
Like popcorn, the waves pop the sides of the dock and
brushstrokes of salmon and grey tinge the sky like an artist’s canvas propped against the murky mountains, while a flock of geese stipple overhead in v-formation.
Soon it will be completely dark.
Wooden planks washed grey by sun and wave support my body as it lingers here.
I wish to see this picture everyday.
My son joins me in awe.
His chatter cracks the calm companionlessness of the moment,
but wanting to share, I’m glad he’s with me.
The sky smells of hope and fuel.
My pulse slows like a watch loosing its charge.
Bugs are biting now.
The purple rest has ended.