Last

It's a sinking ship, she said

Out into nothing

Out into stillness

Out into indigo evening clouds

Her sighs are glass shards

and he swallows each one

Knowing that the ship has already been taken by the current

already slipped under

already resting on the icy bottom

It's a lost cause, she said

To the autumn chill

To the darkest oak

To the bare bones mountain

If he was honest (and he was mostly honest)

The crisp of fall on the cusp of night is solace enough

But the lifetime of secrets span the gap of just a few feet

which is amazing in its simplicity

And it's a sharp divide

cracked at the edges and wearing yellow under the weight of it all

yet still with a glassy surface

smooth enough to hide the truth and make it pretty

Because it only counts when it's pretty