in the last apartment at
the end of the island
carving beams out from the fog,
after the trains have started
to whisper and the fireflies
fallen asleep, when even the waves
kiss the beach with less breath,
when even the beach
kisses back with less stone

then, alone, there is a last light
still on, closing in
its distance from me, walking
over the water and calling
my name, and behind it

                          is you.