Silky and new
a petal like a page, turning out
with hands open, to greet the Sun
who threads through the day like a leviathan,
the wispy whiskers on his chin
waving with the zephyr in the north sky
with a yellow grin
that bites
my eyes
glaring flares
break out in the beard
as lightning strikes sometimes lash
in the grooves of a night’s curtain,
but silent, the rays that pierce today bear
no thunder, and though they flow they babble
like no river, but are
the quietest
fires, still as trees
and I need
no shelter
they bade me with owl wings,
tender, and soft of foot, though it’s not dark
this afternoon is as tranquil
and slow as the early hours
before dawn

and so warm.