when is the end point of a sun set? when the prickling stars peak like urchins through their own night-time blanket? when the long stretched out arms of light, reaching back to themselves, loosen their grip a little, and start to fade? when light is just a line on the horizon, long and red, reflected out above itself, into clouds, into water, into faces? i turn when time tells me i have to, and from the long and narrow curves of west coast highway i give it to the corner of my eye, trying to gauge that which i am missing out on. i have the wind and the warmth of it through my fingers, the feeling of skin mixed with salt, mixed with sweat. i feel my face move and i am smiling.