End of Line

I see the light
from firecrackers dim,
as if poured into hidden spaces.

The sky is a blank wall.
Not one star blinks
or glows,

Like a poem whose thoughts
are unexpressed, halted
past the end of line.

I hear the horns fading,
isolating the echo
of a breath.

The air does not waver
like you do,
words stalling in their place.

In the powder-filled air,
my words were clobbered
by the mist.