again, comes the
illimitable sun—
that titan,
that dynamo,
that protector, that
exalted one—
that scourge of all
philanderers, hard
criminals, and drunks—
that gutsy oligarch
of planet Earth
who knows
how to
get things done.
And you watch him
from your window
as he ferrets
out the gloom
and rides upon
his chariot toward
the palace
of high noon—
and you feel,
as you do, the relief
in your bones
as this honey-
golden thought
first blooms,
then, drizzles
down, from your head
to your toes,
and spreads
to suffuse your
unlettered soul
with all it could
possibly know:
you do not have to
do this alone.
