Purple light of day’s end envelopes
Sky and reaches down to feed the souls
Of lives bereft of color.
The color that they couldn’t see,
Drifted over her and he,
The feeling brought them there —
To watch the dying sun.

Passed between the rays of light,
Noticed,
Although he tried to fight,
The impulse to look away,
Pursue the notion gone astray,
And act as though she didn’t see it too.
Briefly locked, those broken panes of colored glass
Glistening with fire,
The pain of days those gone and past,
Regarded not what’s burned,
Remnants endure,
She noticed what was meant to last,
How color finds its way,
Through the broken glass;
Which gave him strength to carry on
And her to know she wasn’t wrong.

A future folded,
This moment tucked away,
A flower with no water,
Not yet ready to bloom.