oh the Sun
it's shining, it's burning
blistering away the day
the tree branches swaying
in the gales off the bay
flocks of swallows
dotting the yellow sky
as if Summer still had some sway
as if already
the light wasn't bleeding away
hulks of the maples
a growing shadow in the west
a streak of brilliant white
so luminescent
thrust at such a perilous angle
into the shoulders of the trees
a jet barely visible
nearly lost in the heights
its engine heating
compressing the air
using the atmosphere
against itself
to climb westward
so to appear
as if it's falling
into the ghost of the Sun
how wonderful to know
that light seeks after light
the peach edge
of a gray cloud
already eclipsing
that bright contrail
branches still buffeted
sway
the north winds
roaring hollow and bodiless
tearing, tearing
the world away from the day
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