With My Eyes Closed

a poem written while the sun sets

It is everything but a trail of dust
that never settles.
No tears, no pretense nothing
left unsaid. Not even
an atom of regret between us.
Just the water yonder,
where the sun is being pulled by
a greater force, and no,
we are not lying on our backs
against a field of grass
watching like two hopeless
romantics thinking they’re kismet.

Oblivious to the grand cosmic performance
graced to us mere mortals on Earth,
my eyes are pulled only
by an even greater force
of being seen by you.

Your face and the sky.
The clouds and your eyes
that says we’re past the bluest
sunset of our lives.

It’s almost celestial. Doubtless,
I’m in a dream, I said. You pinch my arm
softly as the rain that was not.
You feel it, don’t you.
No hint of doubt in your voice,
yet faint as the bluest rain
that poured—here. Where I am
where you’re not.

I thought I saw a comet’s tail
with my eyes closed.
Too near the sun, it glows against
the bluest break of dawn.
Too wishful it fades.

So softly perhaps—
that I missed it.

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