Oh how a setting sun departs an unobstructed sky:
So firmly, without repose,
Steadily, enduring.

Without contradiction, the sun
Does sink, slowly, steadily.

Downward flits that bright yellow disk,
Towards an edge where an abrupt world meets
And casually greets
An ardent sky.

The disk slides by.

Silently,
This disk sinks,

The sky runs away,
Exposing the earth to the stars.

The sky went chasing the sun,
Perhaps thinking it was the last one.

The last sinking sun I’ll see –
I’ll run and chase that sun that
Last time too.

I’ll chase the sun then too.

But how will I ever know
Which is my last setting sun?

The sky chases out every setting sun.
Should I?