I will miss your 9:00 p.m. sunsets

And reciting sonnets to the moon.

She’s such a lover girl

With a soft spot for Shakespeare.

She is like me,

A coal mine canary singing for men to let me die

In the noxious fumes of their helium-inflated egos.

My flock migrated south for winter

Five summers ago

And left their nuclear shadows branded into the sky

After being consumed by the sun’s feverish beam.

I left flowers at summer’s grave

But the sun conjured its ghost

And left it in limbo.