The Poet

"You must do this", they said, and pointed outward,
as if I had some magic in me. "Make it
before the last light fades, see, it sinks downward
faster now." And so I figured, fake it.

They shook their heads and wondered how I did it;
they even said, "It's something, how you do it!"
I took the trifle in my hand and hid it,
looked skyward, shrugged: so that's a sunset? Screw it.