THE WAY THE SUN

THE WAY THE SUN



The way the slanting sun of the morning
catches and kicks many things sidelong
as if illumination was a game it's playing
with all matters attested here short or long

Its probing fingers tease out the tress of things
with its golden touch just as a father yearns
for the fullness of his son to be as glory sings
in the full light of that day of the heart's concern.

Still the sun hunts lion-hearted even shaded by cloud
the red sun that scratches to bleed out in bright blood,
or as reduced to this shattering of light that shrouds
its beating heart in gloom of a world on which it broods.