Heads up—here comes
that invulnerable hero: the sun;
demigod, sparkplug, revisionist,
exalted one;
enemy of criminals, drunks,
philanderers, card sharks;
the one who gets things done.
Unlike that liminal coward, the moon,
he has returned just as he promised,
luminous, and as always,
in the same platonic, circular
oracular form.
He can now be seen from your window
riding in his glorious chariot, post-battle
toward that reassuring press conference
in the sky called high noon.
And you are so relieved to see that man,
you can feel it in your bones
like a heat; so relieved,
it feels undeserved—it's like
those dreams, those precious hours
like pearls on a necklace,
which were stolen last night
as you slept have been returned.
From your ligaments to your fingertips,
you feel whole once again
as you realize—you do not have to
do this alone.
