The day holds too much silence

as the sun refuses
to climb above the horizon line
and refuses to share
the smallest sips
of its light, even though I said
thank you
each time before, but the sun
must be mad at me because

the sun is hiding, and I am thinking
about how many minutes would pass
before I knew the sun 
went dark because I will never see
the sun again and I have felt
the warmth on my skin for the last
time, and I can’t remember
if I said thank you. I am suffocating
on the lack of noise and the way
it tastes like
nothing even 
as it turns
my tongue so sticky. I am choking
on all the words that have expanded
in my throat because my mouth
is too dry. And my mouth
would say something—

The exact right perfect thing
that would make the sun
love me again, and my mouth

would produce enough saliva again
if the sun would just rise, if the sun
would just let me have a gulp, if
the sun could just ask me for help
if it can’t shine anymore.