My motion lies
in the middle of the first echo,
when the hand reaches for his short breath
and loosely slips lower,
his face to liberate.
make the day turn into a yellowish leaf -
it smells like the fire from the mountains.
They cover the sun
like the thick African dust -
fountains of brown smoke over the city
come to drown them all.
My motion slows down
as the eyes turn away from the windows.
They know someday they'll make their vows -
barely forgiven for their cheap emotions,
barely still searching for a broken sun.