Remember when we walked
down half-deserted streets
sometime between twilight and sunrise?
When the street lamps formed orange
puddles on the sidewalk
and the city was nothing
more than a charcoal sketch
with smudge marks
and coffee stains.

We laughed so loudly that the
darkness tensed
shifted
rolled over
and finally went back to sleep.

Remember how the night was cold
and sharp?
How it tasted of chlorine and metal?
How the tree branches formed
skeleton hands
that reached to pull you away?

But we laughed
so loudly that we thawed out the sky
as you whispered memories of
watercolor paintings
and kite strings
snug around tiny wrists.
And as the night dripped over us
you looked up and smiled
and the stars were in your eyes.

Remember when I found out you
were leaving
sometime between twilight and sunrise?
The night was cold and sharp
and the skeleton trees had hands that reached
to pull you away.

I didn’t know
that your stars were going out.
One by one,
like a handful of snowflakes tossed
into the sky,
turning and twisting and flashing
against the darkness until finally
the sunlight took them away.