S.T. In The Setting Sun Reflecting Off the Mirror
He shook a thousand notes from his hair that was caught in tangles from the stereo. The sun's final breath before sleeping came into the window to toss the page with wind hands of my notebook. My thoughts are with you, and where you are. Not here, but S.T. sits like a cat looking at records of my past life. I told him you are an idol I forgot back there. The one that walked on the sea, and emptied colour from the stones that frame it. But he's here. Not as a stand in, but as a sshadow ghost wisp that is translucent in this sun, that fades somewhere over the water where you are. Not here, but there. Nowhere, you are, but he is here, and you are not.