More On the Sun
I think it can see
how fragile we are
There’s a newly paved road
on the old road
Over and over. The sun
a twitching
of blind spots
The sun itself
is a blind spot
What lights there?
We change lanes
mostly guessing
No wonder our Earth
has its face
to the sun
like it does, at all times
pacing around it
Maybe the sun
was born
with some disease
that requires watching
An impulse control
issue. Look at us, driving
places. Honking
like geese
in such
well-meaning light
What must we look like
to them, up there?
The irritable
The spitting
Our lives an array
of outbursts
The chaos
of joy
falling softly
on some other planet. Pink
and blue murmurs
Gold standards. Our boxes
for looking directly
at the sun?
unedit 
Wondrous words, Britt. So suggestive.
Full of what I like to call “juicy ambiguity.”
“The pleasure of puzzlement” is what I’ve heard. Pretty much the same thing! Thanks for being around, Johnny. I really appreciate it.
My pleasure. Your words always leave me with a delicious lack of finality or understanding. Right where I want to be.
As my buddy Jeremy recently called it, “the sorrow of wonder and the wonder of sorrow.”
The whole kit and caboodle. Beats being bored.