The Sun Rises Everywhere

Every morning, without fail,
The sun rises above the mountains
In the east, above the shores
And desert sands, above Siberia,
Portugal, and Greenland,
Above the African continent,
Sweden, and Antarctica.

The sun rises everywhere,
Even when night is long in dying,
Like a confession that burns
Our weary, troubled ear.

We take the sun for granted,
Yet she herself is dying
By her willingness to provide.

We never ask what we can do
For the sun � how strange it seems.
We assume she is mindless
In her course, not proud or lonely,
This heart beating in the universe
Where all matter is the same
And we are cosmic dust.

Such blindness will spell our doom.
We spring from the same source,
The sun and moon and stars,
Every rock and every bird,
Glaciers strolling down
A mountain face.

Even my garden bears the fruit
Of our sweet desire,
Sings the joy of our disgrace.

October 16, 2005

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