The amber light last night in the darkness
so very nearby – was that you?

Early hours cast light on a boy
shaking the wind and ruffled obsidian from his hair
with grapefruit acid looking sharp on his teeth,
with linen skin so much fairer

than the boy who lay fearless beneath the storm,
predicting when an extraordinary agate peacock
would strut across the schoolyard of stars
and through the twisting iron gate;
or, of course, when we would spin into sight.

So this broken morning is the aftermath of the storm,
the watery sky washed yellow and unhappy. How could it

have been you that left me; lonely and starless.