Sunset At Siem Reap

Looking lost between clouds this sun is not the lone one I know from home, the big one who takes up all the evening sky, the red one who free falls over tenements, the drama queen who dips in to dirty waters when done for the day. The sun I've known is a star. Here, this paid-to-perform sun stays still, delays disappearance, does not sink until you tame it into your sonnet about tourists who trap the sunset with their toys. Packed into a poem on the spot, Your sun still slowly enters mine and I too write of foreign, fading light. Sunset at Siem Reap. A poem from the comfort of a strange land, this guilt trip for words I failed to find at home.