First, the burning sandalwood Rising past my leaded glass. Then, the light. A candle would Have lit my hands as bright as that Sun, sinking low, under homes Blinking on, til the dawn Pokes its holes in the dark That would have been there otherwise. I realized: I was asleep. I often am. But in that tick of second hand I came awake. I heard a song. A stir, a shift—the sun is gone. Was I asleep? I often am. Then, Saturn's run: several suns Streaked the night (I assume—I was dumb Might as well have been the Southern skies). Now I arise And later, on a bench, the Bay Sweatered in its lazy haze Settles in this mountain mold That crowns our city, gated, gold Sun stretches high, tracing each line, Rendering finely as a little brush on a canvas Roughly what's real In my eyes.
"only those who are so lost as to have abandoned the leprous kingdom of objectivity will carry the courage needed to see the absent wisdom within." - https://scuppernong.zone