Saturday, February 26, 2011

Boy and Sun

Oh clay streets, push my feet to run away
In my small chest I sense the end of day
And dash to the horizon where she lay
Painting the patient sky with saffron ray
And I, the puppeteer of twilight's play
Caress the star, convincing her to stay
        leave and stay
        leave and stay
And leave.  I heave the mystery up high
To crash down into bruising purple sky
Four hundred times, four hundred suns will die
True consequence evades my hungry eye
I tire of the game and say goodbye
Dash home in black, but lost again am I
        when am I
        when am I
This hourglass has finer grains of sand
For here a year has been my hourland
In night, I see no shadow where I stand
No memory of mama's open hand

Forgotten like the flame to which I ran
The boy who raised the sun is now a man