I didn't ever think of anything but the shape that it made
there were lights fading around the edge of a hand the last time it touched me. by the time it had drawn away, all the lights were
there was sunlight, later on, streaming through the cracks between fingers & eyelashes & a voice crying for spare change, eyes shaded from the harsh angle with a scarf, & i was going to turn out my pockets but the hills were pulling,
pulling on the day. a red glint
stayed on the horizon for a long time after, though,
& we liked to pretend it was still the sun.
were wrapped around our bodies like chains of bubble fairies.
we called them fairies, didn't we.
they were fading but even these days i see, juxtaposed on the world, those little blueish patches of not-ness
left by a light that suddenly went out.