top of page

Sunset Sadness

By Jim Burns


You are standing by the window.

A bank of clouds,

sprawling gray and purple bruises

on the sky,

accepts the sacrifice

of the setting sun.

Your back is to me,

your arms folded in front of you,

hugging yourself

like a child.

The window runs from floor to ceiling

and makes you look small.

It used to be so easy to say

I love you,

but now the words stick in my craw

and mix with the bitterness of bile.

A raindrop slides down the window,

or is it the reflection

of one of your tears?


bottom of page