I see, in the miraculous way
the sun makes her sure descent,
my own place in this world.
The sun gives us this gift
In her sure movements, regal
and decisive, sweeping across
lands in constant invitation.
I stand and watch the sky
sigh plush and heavy at dusk,
heaving at the last letting go
in tufts of orange, grey and pink.
I, too, sigh, with the weight of
the undone, my heart hammering
in her caged dome, unlike the
sun before me, a fireball ablaze
with the potential for all that is,
offering me, even now, her golden
embrace. I stand before the mountain,
shaking at the wonder of all the ways
in which I am here, and not here, and
I take it. The sun’s persistent rotations
that allow my fluttering, fledgling
trajectories. Warning of the dark,
soothing, always again, with her light.