Blue Sun

A poem about a random Sunday afternoon spent in solitude.

Sky stretches away leaving a paused day
Slowing down and down to a sigh
Things abide in their natural sound
A proportion of weight and solemn footsteps

The fear of the length of time
The pain at the unplanted soil
And the unwritten page
Receding in the same silence

The great saved rubber plant
Could absorb my full gaze the day long
The factories eternal hum could make melody
The endless exhalation ease the heart

Still in the still
Could this deep blue breeze
Tip the wine glass in the garden
Could it pale the evergreen?

A wind whose source is endless
Tugs leaves and birds across the sky
A stream whose source is inexhaustible
Drills whirlpools into granite

These days, hopped like chasms
Are the souls making
Where the surface is hushed
And the sun is blue.