When Heaven Fell So Low

Driving like a maniac trying to outrun our last fight

but, no matter how fast I drive, the fight sits right next to me in the passenger seat

telling me to slow down.

Racing west, as the sunset smoulders smoke and ashes on the other side of the horizon

we can’t see so far down the road to the dead end

speeding towards the dying light without an air bag

hoping if I drive fast enough, we’ll be able to catch it, save this fading painting from extinction.

How church for some is their only insurance policy

with no money back guarantee

I write to give some semblance of permanence

to believe I’ve resuscitated this sunset

given it mouth to sunset in a poem dedicated to it.

Let poetry sing to life that dying light

that night

driving up the bridge with you

straight into the sun’s latest masterpiece

clouds the colors of Fall leaves swirling

softer than a Monet sky

painting over the fight

as you take my hand and say it looks like driving in heaven

and for that moment I loved you more than ever

til we crested the bridge

and it was all down hill

and heaven fell like house lights before the rising of the curtain.

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