the last words

What makes a sunset melancholy?

The day’s over, marsh grass tips topple

over each other- facing west. 

Red tints crash deeper into vermillion. 

Eastern fingertips of void will catch us.

Then why? 

Just because a bridge burns doesn’t mean

I don’t want to cross.

Just because a melody’s fumbles and fails- 

it’s not forgotten.

Just say anything- a curse, praise, whatever.

Does this have to be an endeavor,

just say something, anything, please-

so that those last words don’t last forever.

- JW