He turned his head away from the east
The sun tan absorbed his skin and made him part of them
He looked westward on a platform that gave him permission to dream
He looked westward to where the sun was setting
It was an ancient rite his forefathers had warned him
observing the day end as one would a dying parent or relative
Not seeing the darkness in their departure but the essence of it all
He lingered almost looked east but turned his head away
He knew she lived somewhere in that direction
Somewhere dangerously close
He turned his head to where the cloud rounded into a scythe
One that could cut down his misplaced gleam
Over the horizon the form stood out
Over the small pink lights survivors of the initial sunset stuck
Like warm little hearts just waiting for the blade above
he scolded himself again for wanting to pull east
He looked westward once again to see those clouds and formations
As they slowly dropped down and disappeared
Into the humid nothingness floating on the lower edge of the horizon
it was the farewell of the sun only for the impatient
For tomorrow will bring even more dazzling troubles
each one a treasure for the bizarre man I have become
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