Through the living room window,

I watched you lean against the front gate, cigarette limp in your hand.

When you lifted your face to the sun, expression listless,
the sweat could have been tears.

For that moment, you bore an uncanny resemblance to an angel,
your profile cradled in light.

They say that eyes can only withstand so much light
before the vision is damaged.

First it was your hair, and then your face, until
you were a skeleton of seething black spots.