Sun swings low on another
vacant, bleeding horizon.
It took David a year to return
so why does my unblinking, wet gaze
feel like eternity?
(She knows her way back.)
You have called her by name,
pealing more potently than any dinner bell.
But sometimes the way home
stumbles through a distant, starving land.
So you and I: we’ll wait.
Another darkness, another sunrise
cracking promises over the day,
our ears reaching toward the scratch of footsteps.
Cover image by Camylla Battani.