Monday, May 18, 2009

Aubade on a Sunday

Why wait until the doldrums of the coming afternoon
even make our socks seem heavy?

The sun rises and comes and saps the tree branches
of their breeze

anyhow, and soon we'll be sapped too
and what will it matter then,

what will it matter,
all the glorious thundering we make while

the morning clouds rise up
from the ground, like an offering to the sky?

Why bother with the forceful blink
into the Chinese fingertrap of day?

Let's go ahead and just admit we're
useless. Let's rise to fall again so that we rise.

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