RISING
Rising
I rise to see the rising of our sun, ‘tho only
To begin with, a fat quarter of her,
For she is in great part hidden,
Blocked by a line of trees. She comes…
A spark of flame
Inching higher above the horizon
Before my eyes, presenting her face:
A pulsing, glowing nectarine orange
With a thin, berry-red rim,
Beneath the still winking
Dozns of stars —
Only a minute from disappearing,
Taking away the remains
Of the night that brought the day…
Until, as I write, the sun rises to
Nearly fully round,
But she now wears a mask —
Appearing not like our sun, but
Instead, like a sister moon
With her hot colors blanched, to look out
Wth a mother-of-pearl face
Made so before me by a wind-blown
Stream of clouds skimming
Past the line of trees
Whose new, Spring-born leaves,
I can see in silhouette,
Quivering…
(c) s.y.eslinger 5/22/2024
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