Setting

It is nights like these I feel that metallic stuff
settle so heavy in my stomach
it weighs the rest of me,
my heart becoming
a muscle tired from lifting
such heavy lungs.
It is this same dust that makes
sunsets so impossible to breathe.
And instead of driving west on the highway
I’m finding him.
Ten states away
in his Mother’s kitchen
with two years worth of afternoons
wrung up.
I wished time would give
this edge of loss a brittle lightness,
but an attempt at forgetting
can only ever sting
so much
as driving headlong into the sun
realizing it is most brilliant
because it sets.