The Last Light Before Descent

The sun bows low—

a weight of fire

sliding toward the sea.

Gold bleeds

into the edge of night,

final gift

before the swallow of dark.

Stone holds me steady.

The tide inhales.

I feel it—

the world shifting,

the road narrowing.

Perhaps this is the moment—

to press my name

into the stars,

to let the constellations

carry what I cannot hold.

Already,

the horizon tilts forward.

Already,

the brake lets go.