I watch the hues
Full of pinks, orange, and fervor
Set behind
the man-made mountain
So quick, so easy
It was for it to disappear

As I turn around,
the widowed moon
Rising from her sleep
Shades of rose and white
Reflecting off of her presence

Wise in the ways
of comfort and compassion
She brings light to the tears
Of the people
Also left in the dark

A year later
and you send me a message
"you've changed me for the better,
thank you for being so kind."

I can't reply back
even after everything has cooled down
I've thought it over a million times
pondered over how I could say goodbye

Even if I can't say it to you
I'll feel it from here
I'm sorry I couldn't say thanks
because you've changed me for the better too

Who is the audience of our thoughts
when flooded by speech?

Who is the audience of our words
threaded through the needle of interpretation
sewn into a poem of subjection
when we all have something to say?