Over the end of the skyline I see
your last letter burning in violet,
ashes spelling run.
I let the wind fold the hurt into cranes,
send them back across the dusk
where your echo still hums.
No more chasing shadows wearing your name;
I plant tomorrow in the cracked concrete,
let the moonwater rinse the rust from my lungs.
I rise, salt and starlight,
dancing on the edge of what was,
singing I’m already gone.