The Two-Minute Window

I stayed in the car to watch it go.

The sun dropping behind the buildings.

For ninety seconds the windshield went gold.

Then rose.

Then the slow color of old asphalt—cold.

I didn't want to miss the moment,

the exact second of it leaving.

Sat there in the warm, then in the cold,

watching like I could hold

it just by looking.

You can't hold light.

My hands went gray.

The steering wheel went gray.

I drove home in the dark.