a thud, and it rolls,

covering itself with dust and

dirt.

it’s contribution to

the rusty-red artwork (like many before it)

is gently brushed on the canvas,

white on black,

new on old.

a step, then two,

as a sea of cold eyes shift,

moving away.

murmurs follow their currents,

and soon,

only one

remains in the empty sea.

A pair of eyes, startlingly still,

as though asleep.

only when the skies turn as

red as the land does

it watch the last sunset it’ll

ever see.