So what?—if the sun
is pinned rosy
high and enormous
in the bright vivid
flush of sky-
blue up above us—or if
instead—the next
day we wake up to find
its ebullient
and dwarfish
pathetic light vanished—
or at least
lost in thick clots of
grey
white—neverending?
In real life
the sun—the actual
one
that sheer
faraway
fierce spinning disc of a thing—
is just not the same—
as our idea
of what it means
for a thing
to become once—and then keep-
on becoming!
the sun
that we've come
to depend on daily.
And what I mean
is precisely
that it's almost impossible
to notice
such actual sameness!
without at least resorting
to calling—the fact
of that
single great
star's unwavering
presence in our neighborhood—
a pattern.