Your time is running out.

You can feel it in the way

you’ve been trying to count sunsets.

Trying to figure out which one is

the last

so it can be important.

 

This sunset,

the one you tell yourself cannot be

the last

because it doesn’t feel right,

sinks behind the ocean horizon.

 

You think about the time,

long ago          and far away,

when you watched a burning sun

foolishly end itself.

 

It dragged a galactic sea

into its orbit and the waves

rose to the embrace.

They knew that this was the end,

as far as ends go,

and welcomed the sun to its death.

 

You had watched the salt water hiss

and the steam cry

until the sky was red with blood and fire

and you knew of nothing else.

 

Nothing could have saved the sun from drowning.

Its eons of wisdom did not grant it

sanctuary.

It sank to the depths without ceremony or burial.

It had always thought it was capable of more.

 

Nothing can save the son from drowning.

You know that, as you watch

the last

of the light fade away from you.

There is nothing special about the final one.

 

You step into the waves,

and the salt winces at the cuts on your feet.

You have walked so many lifetimes

and the water welcomes the weight.

 

You do not feel like a fool

when the ocean engulfs you.

Though perhaps that is how

they will remember you.

 

A son that had forgotten he was made of fire.