the ashes of old moons lend their hands to this evening we are sitting shallow on rusted bleachers thinking of yellow mornings beloved with a question on our lips as intricate as maps of the earth on strands of your hair as epic as the confused battle between night and day(and those brave stars sending the enormous tide toward us!) the music of time passing is comfortable we embrace the infinite and wonder how we can be alone in the world as free as clouds melting into a billion suns