To you, Over the winter sea, the sun lies down long. The low light skims the waves, spreading silver, and stops at the end of the breakwater. If I can't leave this spot even with my hands aching from cold, it's because I know this light will soon be gone. There were hours like this when I walked with you, too. In that space where the waves came up to our ankles and drew back, we didn't come down from that hill, saying nothing. Even now, that hour is still there on the breakwater. I know the way back, and yet my steps linger out there by the sea.
I watched the hour when the sunlight, near dusk, sat long on the window at the end of the alley and then, at some moment, vanished. I stood a long time after seeing it.
In the morning market alley, I looked up at the sound of an old sign rattling in the wind. Under that sign, there was no one. At the end of the empty alley, the sun was just going over.