We look for order everywhere,
in life, in our days, in bodies that kneel out of habit.
But some evenings disorder is the only prayer that makes sense.
The light, here, does not set.
It lingers. It refuses to choose between the day and its end,
just like us, in front of what we don't want to let go of yet.
The sun will never settle.
And maybe that's the only true thing.
sendrock
