30

The fox
howling into the dying sun
until his eyes dip crimson red
and the crow kisses white
and she falls into the shadows
dead
and every time I climbed up
you echoed ' higher '
but you can only see so much of the mountain
from the plain
and your beautiful black lashes never could hide
the copper guilt in your eyes
or their dying green flames

White roses have faded with the days
the nectar tastes sour now,
the seas sound grey

The ink from the papers
has begun to evaporate
You know he is coming for you,
he is on his way...