SKOO // N° 08

What I have left are
     gardens and golden circles,
the voices of these people stained with
     an answer prayed in the wrong way.
They try but can’t yet hear
     the wind coming in the distance like the sea.
Thank you for building me so in the sky that I might
     roll beyond the window and
into the next color of this life,
     gracing a more delicate view.
Down the street I see patterns—high beams
     in sunset—
it took this night
     to give it all quietly.