Sunday, June 16, 2013

The morning light begins to stir the Sun

The morning light begins to stir the Sun
about her crimson dress, and before noon
she reveals herself. I have been stunned
by what she has disclosed, and I am soon
confounded and confused within her funny
brilliance. Like the flowers, I've swooned
in the heat, listened to the water running
down the bayou in an ever-delicate tune.
She's the possible meanings of the pun,
the playing words, the blanket of maroon
that covers me in dusk. I have been shunned
by what she keeps hidden, but I am soon
redeemed and justified: the stars are spun
about me as I reflect on the white Moon.

No comments:

Post a Comment