before it dawned on my visual field you were gone like a ghost in the wind now the air is stale and speaks a foreign dialect. my mind picks up the last few signposts of summer, waiting like angels of transition- one eye verdant, another blood red. maybe this evening is possessed or maybe I'm seeing things or maybe, just maybe the world is racing too fast. two hours past the end of this summer, my arms are frozen from your transparent embrace. two swollen orbs traverse the skyline, searching for a rebirth of dawn, when electric poles cast longitudinal shadows on the thermodynamic sand, but farewells last longer than wordless prayers. nightmares tiptoe around the borders of my town and monsters creep downstairs from their highland houses- battles resume in the wind, muffled voices hint at silent prayers, a sigh a door, a plagiarised speech on screen, two bottles of champagne- one underneath a bed, another in bits claiming a quietus. thousand soldiers on road, and three battles curtailed at home. in a world where winter lasts forever, orphans of life still peep through windows, a prayer in their gazes knocks on summer's door.
a sunset a day, two battles a night. someday there'll be a dawn without martyrs of a quotidian summer dissolving with hopes on the shore.