I have left sunsets behind me.
The kinds that can only be gazed at from precarious cliffs
Their clouds wailing deep orange-purple tears, until they melt into wisps
And the sun bowing out in the defeat
Of not being able to capture me.
I have often left summer skies.
After having bathed in the light of their tie-dyed blue-white.
I have left butterflies, rainbows, mirages and fireflies, too
I can never