Monday, February 6, 2012

The Sun Inside

The sun floats, to everyone’s relief.  It costs
Nothing to black it out.  Adonis shades
The simple day and the cinema of her sleep.
“Stones or loaves of bread or buckets of clean water
Let me carry it for you.”

The tickets were included when I stopped.
The telephone is an archaic fragment.
The renewal notices gather dust, unnoticed
But for the holes that have been filled like pockets of thyme.

It will come out in this shower.  How sad, how wonderful
Now, while it lasts, drinking
It in and breathing it out, and the others will do
As they please, with you.  One fades into bloom,
The mystery being that they ever knew you at all.

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