Battle Meditation

there is a sun,

a supernova heart

pulsing with all

its eternity above

infinitesimal mornings;

days that never end.

 

watching it peel

back the exclusionist

fogs, the silent

steams tracing

the lips of the

lake with is mist

fingers, a touch

without the heaviness

of love.

 

a full cloud of it

set against the bays —

standing staid and

obstinate, pretends

it will continue its

ready matrix;

masquerading,

for all, its solidity.

 

it cannot

stop the sun from rising,

from changing its cloudy

nature to the simpler,

iconic invisibility of day.

 

there is a sun, rising

to the challenge of a

cacophonically

clear blue sky; the

goosey gargling in

the distance, and the

last of the sweet

to-whits ,

 

making their

angular way

to the beginning of

itall; to the promise of

living.

 

before my eyes, the

brilliant crystal glitter

of frost encases wood;

another player, this time

glass pretending to be

diamonds.

 

a fish reaches

for the receding

mist and, not to be

outdone, the water

never rests.

 

there is a sun,

a supernova sigh

lighting my day,

warming my hands

and my brow,

inspiring this litany,

this necessary tedium

of writing it out —

 

just in case

 

someone asks me, one

day, what the sun

was like in the morning,

what the mists did

and what Autumn

sounded like,

 

today.

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