by David Glen Larson
Eyelids crack like windows,
allowing the gloaming to roam inside.
Your smile greets me like the crescent moon,
but reaching out, I grasp only shine.
You always were luminous,
and for one more moment, alive.
David writes speculative prose and poetry from his home in Los Angeles. More of his work can be found in both print and online editions of Scifaikuest, Star*Line, Static Movement, and Zouch Magazine. He also occasionally writes television and feature films.