I watch the sun sink behind clouds:
it feels like a long farewell, though
I know he’ll be back tomorrow
but not so close, not so warming,
not so in love as today.
I know it’s a seasonal thing,
but still I feel abandoned.
I tell myself at least it’s
not another lover this time
(only 7 billion or so
of them) and here I am again
turning the sun into a man.
But none of this really matters,
these vague thoughts aren’t strong enough
to shed this blanket of moist cloud
that clings about my face and weeps.
I keep my eyes fixed on the clouds,
watch the sky wane from orange to
purple, to dark, and I hold on
to all that’s left: the knowledge that
one day winter won’t hurt so bad.