One Last Dawn

We walk down a path to nowhere,

holding bunched up quilts and flashlights.

The waves lap against the shore,

eternally eroding land,

already too scarce.

The place where two things meet,

like the coming dawn,

where night meets day.

The two of us want to see the dawn one last time.

This camping trip is almost over,

but the dawn calls us.

It has always called us.

The two of us lying under a black, black sky,

peachy at the edges.

I hear you say my name, under your breath.

Your voice has the lightness of feathers,

the whispery quality of too much air,

not enough substance, not enough sound.

Both of us are ethereal under this dark, dark sky.

Both of us are too fragile to see the light of day.

Dawn is transformative;

makes us new and stronger,