Closing the day, going back to remembered dusk and your heart on a spoon,
Dreamland is a little too far among the gray things, but
you see the day's tears like the end of a dream, its kind
but sorrowful temperament. You seek out
the loss written in the head's tears on the silk flowers
of June's permanent pair of spectacles.
The beauty of her remembrance clouds the outline
of the far body of chlorophorm that
fills your lungs, making the dusk less obvious
and your heart jump to your throat. So now
you're sitting on the closing of the deep things that kept
you so broken for so far and your dusk is Dreamland again and
the lids above your dark regards drop slowly over,
closing.