the sun seeks
dramatic silhouettes,
the way to appear charming.
a current opens for another,
having forgotten to hold anger close,
letting all the reverence rush in.

the result is a silvery dazzle. a film
upon your outfit,
which no amount of sweeping sheds.
you step out of it
to the skin, into a bled white
instance of perfection.

the objects of the cast bow obvious.
now absence as aperture,
every breath struggling to fill itself in,
having forgotten
all separation is escorted
by a jubilee of horns.