The Sun

The first of two poems set beneath an unrelenting sun, where strength meets something that will not move.

…

Here, in this place, the sun watches

all —

The dry earth, a hard bed, and the trees

that cast no shade, and do not wish to.

None of that matters, for

I am strong, and my task is

clear.

The stone squats on hard earth.

I set my shoulders to the stone, and push.

It will not shift.

I push again.

It will not shift.

…

Once, when I

walked, the earth would

list, and storms

make way for

my coming.

I set my shoulders to the stone, and push.

It will not shift.

I push again.

It will not shift.

…

The hot air shimmers—in the

sky, an eagle, rising to

the other place,

up there—

back then.

The sun is small and hard, and

obliterates all shadow—

all the shades are

fled, but me.

…

I set my shoulders to the stone, and push.

It will not shift.

I push again.

…

…

The sun is small and hard.

…

---

…

This poem pairs with The Hill, another recursive piece, and is part of an ongoing field