Sunset II by Margaret Atwood Sunset, now that weâre finally in it is not what we thought. Did you expect this violet black soft edge to outer space, fragile as blown ash and shuddering like oil, or the reddish orange that flows into your lungs and through your fingers? The waves smooth mouthpink light over your eyes, fold after fold. This is the sun you breathe in, pale blue. Did you expect it to be this warm? One more goodbye, sentimental as they all are. The far west recedes from us like a mauve postcard of itself and dissolves into the sea. Now thereâs a moon, an irony. We walk north towards no home, joined at the hand. Iâll love you forever, I canât stop time. This is you on my skin somewhere in the form of sand.






















