A poem
that begins with the sun
Can
only dim and dim from there
Unless
it finds some other light
That
knows more than a trick or two.
Think
how surprised the sun was
To be
called busy old fool!
But
there are other stars of morning
If you
know which way to look.
When
John Donne bid angels play
Trumpets
at Earth’s imagined corners
They
came. Seek for them even now
You
will find them still, obedient.
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