Poem: Midas Sun

 

Midas Sun

 

the Sun is tired of being so bright

no one can see its face;

of turning sticks into emeralds

and wasting coins on the sea.

 

it wants

to catch the moon for once.

to touch with visible, tangible fingers

and have someone touch back.

 

it seeks a rose in its image,

less crimson, more generous.

it wants a single lover 

to decode the colors that it gifts 

to the robe of Saturn.

 

it wants darkness

to be more hug, less rabbit.

for eyes to expand

instead of close up and flee.

 

the Sun 

it wants to try the other side,

become a shawl of fog 

in a profligacy of rain.

it craves to saturate the soil

with fertility and bliss,

not parch a lovely moment, not

evaporate.

 

the Sun ... 

it knows

 it is the opposite of Midas.

like that cursed king

it creates too perfectly.

 

it is gold that gives life with touch.

gold unable to speak.

gold that must watch its children wander off,

oblivious to the source of their stride.

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10/26 modville.. very tough

7/26 mods for flow and rhythm

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