The sun

You say everything is dripping with sadness--a thick waxy melancholy melting--pooling around your bare toes. Give me that chalkboard eraser so that I might wipe the grey skies blue. Give me a machete so that I might hack out your silhouette and place it on the dog’s pillow next to my bed. There it will lay black and smiling, the antithesis of you, the edges finally dulled and then completely lost in the night. In the morning when I wake and open the back door you will be standing their glowing like the sun. You see all you needed was to lose that blackness; the shadow stapled to your back. I lay your silhouette down in front of the door. You wipe your feet on it and come back inside…