NO ONE EVER WANTS TO GO SEE THE SUNSET

though it went to bed
like a chinese lantern
spilling out in phosphorescence

and it bled into the water,
pastel sidewalk chalk
running in the rain.

i love the way
things begin again

as if there weren't an end.

in the morning we will
all be a slightly darker
shade of brown,

as if the skin remembered.

the sheets of a bed
holding a shape tattooed
or a patch of lawn who
refuses to grow.

what could possibly have brought us here?

the vessel of our demise
dark and encumbered, but with
tendrils of light
pulling tight like a string,

we're always
making do with such painful instruments

so we play a song of freedom.
a song to bring us back again