He stands alone
outside the old Spanish mission,
slides a lazy foot around in the dirt,
waits for the sun to go down.
She is still inside, praying
that he will not be there
when she walks out into dusk.
Go away, she whispers. Just go away.
The banded horizon spreads thin
and she shivers with anticipation,
into the massive wooden doors.
He is there, plastered
against a pomegranate sky,
nestled between infinity and the sea.
On the rocks below the bluff,
the seagulls begin to mock her,
their arms stretched wide to match hers
as she glides out over the waiting waves.
Copyright © 2013 by Christopher Chaffin – All rights reserved