Tag Archives: sun
I could not predict the fullness
of the day. How it was enough
to stand alone without help
in the green yard at dawn.
How two geese would spin out
of the ochre sun opening my spine,
curling my head up to the sky
in an arc I took for granted.
And the lilac bush by the red
brick wall flooding the air
with its purple weight of beauty?
How it made my body swoon,
brought my arms to reach for it
without even thinking.
the trees react to colder nights by stripping naked
the meadow too
it’s as if they’re about to set off somewhere
all excess baggage is left at the gate
the sun too is a budget traveler
abandoning most of the sky
the days are so quiet now
take me with you
even if there’s nowhere to go
even if it means leaving myself behind
-Dave Bonta, Gnarled Oak
Didn’t we think we were more than this―
little suns unfurling above the earth?
We thought we were constellations
in soil, entire galaxies anchored to dust.
Ravenous, we believed our thousand
arms could hoard the horizon―
eclipsing ourselves even as we waned,
bereft of all but shadow.
-Marci Calabretta, Thrush Poetry Journal