I am grateful that the sun
reaches to my living bones
and rises slowly in the morn
to cast veils of gold on homes

Yet do not retreat at once
Fire stays, high above our heads,
For days may list in resonance
though ungrateful hearts do tread;

Watch the sun leak through the trees,
ancient beasts though so naive
whose hesitant leaves will still grieve
painting blood on winter’s sleeve,

Paddle through the light, my friends,
with weapons down and hearts wide
for are we not the same at ends,
when shadows rise and seasons slide?


6 thoughts on “sun

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