I Leave

& the sky breaks into gray carnations

after 120 days of drought, while the quartz sand rolls

over itself imitating a wave.

I leave & the mountains are wrinkled

& soft like a brown paper bag that carries a sweating

gallon of milk & bananas. I leave the mountains

with the weight of careless graffiti, tattoos:

“I loved.” “I was never here.”

I leave the sunset, red & white candles on a wooden shelf

of horizon, burning until their braids

are exhausted. I leave their orange ink as it is spilled,

as it recedes. I leave & think of you leaving,

somewhere now in the sky with me, glowing with

the earth’s invisible halo.