Saturday, May 14, 2022

Lie to Me, Sun

If we could really see sunlight, we'd see
it as a driven mist of grains--photons so finely
made they move through windows, skin, and eyes
and leaves of trees and plants, which turn them into
life. The photons run the planet while we proceed
with wrecking things, of course. Illusions of mere light,

its nuts and bolts invisible, are fine by me,
especially now, as May behaves like early March,
dark gray and wet and cold. The winter blues 
still thump like Ahab's wood on my soul's deck.
Sure, lie to me, Old Sun, with visible/invisible
rays of light. Light up things and me with little

quantum particles. Hell yeah. As long as you
come in and stay awhile, and save us once again,
and start the growing season and maybe kindle hope. 

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