• Tricia D. Wagner

Sun Poems #2


The moon is a magician.

I didn’t know.

With a swipe of a veil, he unmasked the sun.

Eclipsed, they say – occulted black.

Oh, no.

Revealed. Unconstructed by skin.

Unshackled.

The moon rent a hole in the sky

from whence the real sun crawled.

No even sphere is he –

no tame droplet of light.

The wild sun is thorn-headed and raven-faced.

Slipping out his cage, his eyes found mine.

Swift as the strike that bared the solar core,

the sun unspun me with a glance.

No more than what a casual stranger might offer,

I am dissolved, a vapor shaped like woman.

Beyond a pane of assumptive knowledge

and feigned control,

flashes a fire whose rage no sleeper may perceive.

Yet I am knocked awake.

His gift to me is knowledge.

Coronal fire strikes my skin.

The solar crown pours twilight into my open eyes.

I have seen, and now I know.

I am so very small.

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