Sun in your Eyes

My humble contribution to World Poetry Day…

 

20170313_145157Contrary to popular belief

the sun rises and falls on all the land

in its time: the advantages of

a globe not being flat.

 

Meteorologists smile as they chirp

prayers to Celestia in asphalt temples

doused in snow, and aborted fields

left flat as spiritualists in the dust.

 

Sunlight looks different mirrored in clouds

than hazed by the shutters of a cardboard box

but it is still there, lapping at the waves

which sing it to sleep each night.

 

Bugs answer to the sun.

They revel in the eroticism of its

muggy kisses on the water, or when it cries

through grey-streaked embraces.

 

There is no mountain on which it does not smile

balanced like a ballerina, poised

for an insistent flight above the tree line

out of the shadows memories cast.

 

It burns with its desires for men

warming their small, dark rock

in the hopes that they will look

yet cursed to see the blindness

 

in their eyes, the meager shades

which cultivate absences in history:

they speak in whispers of the sun

like to each it is their own dark secret.