Static in an uninspired afternoon,
hung up still and dumb, the pallid moon
against a lingering five-o'clock sky,
I

watch her emerge: apparition of the twilight,
shadow that outshines this failed daylight,
darkening my sky.
And I

am the creation of her eyes: she sees
my reach, my touch; my whole life culminates in this
one broken gesture;

and as I
slowly fade, I
watch her close her eyes—



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I wrote this during a time when my writing was exploring the theme of identity, but I've never done anything with it. Have at it! As always, feel free to revise it.