huck

a poem by my mother:


how the sun drops splashing its
blood
we used to think it sank into the earth or slowly plunged
into the sea
every day new gold reappearing from
canyons and lakes and over mountain tops

every day rising opening the buds
and then deserting them
to fearful cold and dark
we used to be afraid the last flipped coin was tumbling
leaving us
alone

in these intelligent days we have no suspicion that
cycles are unreliable that
our science can be wrong
we chart it map it monitor
the very core
sunrise? google it
sunset? a thing of the past
past and past and past

way back ancient and humble we
listened to the sudden rush of birdwing in the north
the crack of ice the splintering of wood
that crawl of sand across the fertile soil

and now all we watch is all we make
strange landscape
we are strangers in a broken paradise lonely as
the single sun
burning for life