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