Cupping Water

here again is lonely sunset
and that familiar emptiness growing
even as the light itself diminishes,
like touching hands through a screen door
knowing that departure comes next
even while wondering why

how I feel each time you slip
from the passenger seat
into the cool arms of the night,
cold metal and glass suddenly
a wall between me and you
and your brisk steps away from me,
the last look over your shoulder
before you disappear behind the corner

some kind of ship that sinks nightly
drowning the tiny clutching hands
of my attachments,
spilling their contents into the sea
of darkening night,
longing and desire set adrift,
flotsam on the currents of passing time

another day has slipped like water
through my fingers
and I have nothing to show
for the air and water and
sunlight consumed,
nothing but these aging hairs
upon my head imperceptibly
marking time
and this calendar of heartbeats
I cannot read

what will I do with the sunlight
if given again tomorrow?

when will I be infinitely aware
that every moment, each exhaled breath
is sunset?
and every next moment,
each new rising of my chest
an un-promised sunrise?

when will I unflinchingly see
that time passes at the speed of light,
and yet any moment, cupped
like precious water in my hands,
holds infinitely still?

for ADM, march 2008