It smells like rain.
Undefined farewell always smells like rain.
As the sky tearing up, I still feel my feet walk on stones.
I danced with shoes in my hand.
Partita played underneath my bare feet stomps.

The horizon waits forever, but you didn't.
Godwits in it were gone before I turned around.
They've flown into our folklores in hieroglyph.
Altared along with veils and bones.
Like celebrating Día de Muertos.