There were no stars, or I remember none;
no evidence or inkling night or day.
Unless I’m forced to count the sun,
which never lit anyone’s way
but indiscriminately spilled upon the fuss
of things, goading as equals, good and not,
to race, to chase after the same bus
which never ever could be caught.
I was immersed in city time, heaven obscured
by lowering, by thickening of air.
Was it Elizabeth the poet who assured
about the stars: “they’re there, they’re there…”?
I did not even think to look.
And what good would another’s knowing
do for me? My nose was always in a book
so I could hardly see where I was going.
Originally posted, May 2012
I especially especially love that first stanza.
Lovely Cynthia! As a child, I often felt the sun did light my way as I wanted to follow it as the sunflower does.
And now you live among the sunflowers!
Oh! And I really like THIS poem!
Beginning today, I will be reading your poems (and posts) one by one. They are too beautiful to be missed. As I have become accustomed to my responses reading your verses, the first stanza stopped me again, forcing me to ponder. I read the rest till the surprising, tickling end.
I am honored to the point of embarrassment, and thank you very much. Good readers close the circle of creativity.
But the honour is mine!