after Dorianne Laux
Red in the face the first time I faced it. The sun,
hanging since before the first someone, the sun
dipping amber fingers into dewy-cool lawns.
A warming cabinet for grass blankets, the sun,
call it day-star. Luminous over hayfields, loosed
in the furs of chipmunk. Honey: homespun sun,
a taffeta dress stitched with lemon zest, rested
in an ocean blue backdrop. Dear Sun,
Like a frantic greenhouse, I’ve a blind spot when
it comes to what’s too hot, Smothering One,
I love you like a child though you scorch me.
O Variant of Helen, for what’s left of eternity
