February 25, 2004


  • Supplication to the Sun


    I could sit in the sun today
    without writing
    leaning against the trunk of a hemlock
    on a hill overlooking the quite bygone
    with my eyes closed
    contemplating nothing
    except the incandescence itself:
    drunken to the core this Sun,
    imprisoned only by the life that slurps it up.


    But how to share if I don’t scribble?
    A soul could babble with psychic export
    the intent of all creation and not another
    would likely sense, psychically feel the purport
    thus transmitted.


    So seize me, Sun,
    inspire my words
    so that during my brief span
    of earth-bellied fire I
    through them might too
    shine on.

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