Day Break
If light were an object, it would sound like bird song
just before dawn, a kind of rejoice, the bounty of life.
If would feel like the pain of waking up in the morning,
but also the pleasure of moving each part of you carefully,
stretching each muscle into a state of rebirth.
It would taste like a peach or nectarine, golden juice,
dribbling down my chin, a thin syrup with beautiful pulp.
It would smell like ozone, when the sun bursts
through clouds and the falling rain shimmers into light,
all of them like precious metals, a curtain of elements.
I want to find where the sun leaves its treasure.
When it imbues the earth, it must leave gold behind,
just as silver comes from the moon, copper from the stars.
We have tried so long to mimic the sun, harness it,
we’ve tried to burn our trees and fuels to make it,
we’ve tried to unfurrow seeds with grow lights,
but when our star dies, we will only have our toys,
our makeshift incandescents, these chintz replicas.
We cannot replace our sun, we cannot screw in new bulb
and then twist it like a top and let it keep us in its orbit.
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