The Sun Beats Its Downward Gaze

THE SUN BEATS ITS DOWNWARD GAZE The sun beats its downward gaze Onto a spread-out garden, Shimmering among the arrayed blossom, With sultrily humid, sweat-inducing rays, To break up the encrusted ground. A resurrected form unbinds itself From winter's hardening strictures, Uncracks the crowded confines In a stretched, yielding chrysalis To emerge pristine of shape and hue Into the burgeoning brightness Of a gold-gleaming dawn. Such is the harbinger Of pleasure, tempered with ease, Unhurried by the current of time, And restful as an infant at sleep. Yet rising from slumber, Like a phoenix but gradually, in its way, Not wasting effort or energy, White-feathered wings grown out from Broad, strong shoulders. I watch it become what it always was, Ready to claim its right to the skies, Blue, unclouded, sweltering. The summer's day melts into A forgetful haze of meaning, Of no need for answers. The answer lies in nature's glory, Matching it in every regard, In tune with the seasons, Where the cycle of life, death And regeneration never breaks.