A Poet’s Sun

A poet’s sun this morning,
this light that turns
bare trees baroque.

In rotation with the seasons,
the harvest safely in,
faith is a sure thing.

Earth wears the sun
like a hat
that says Imagine.

Some will say we’re dreamers
and maybe that is so.
I just know it’s easy

to see the world as one
in the hush of early morning
with a liturgy of sun.


with thanks to John Lennon
for his inspiring song “Imagine”

Considering the Harvest

As shadows slip onto the stage
twilight takes on a greater weight.
It is a treasure earned, if not outright,
then by the treasuring.

We learn early on that golden moments
are fleeting and even then, human,
we learn too late, as if mortal ears
can only hear the bell

once it’s stopped ringing, can only see
the flock as it vees in leaving
and every migration takes
a piece of the heart.

It is not for us to wonder why
we hunger.  The creature comforts
that we crave make great demand.
Yet, we take

without giving until some epiphany
awakens us to truth. Every golden string
of sun , no matter how thin,
has its own tonnage.

The journey that will claim its destination
commands from each  two contributions;
first we learn and then we teach.  First we sow
and then we reap.