to morning sun

the sun sets over the pacific and the sky god pulls out his paintbrush
the caterpillar settles down to sleep and will never wake up the same
who else can breath life into a tree in april in michigan?
somehow
in some way
the wheel keeps turning
my autumn love has turned
into my winter flame
where every beautiful woman reminds me of her body
i can see through a keyhole in the sky
to the outer wall of the universe
look what’s happening!
the dusting of sand on the sidewalk is really
fingernail filings from the god of love
sprinkling a holy carpet
for her feet
the wings on my back do not feel weird at all
my old friends from ancient times returning
for yet another incineration
and reincarnation of
life.