I’m going to throw caution to the wind! Oh sweet warning, whisper your way out of the window through the branches of the tree outside. The old oak reaching upwards. Do you see what it’s stretching for? Do you see what I’m stretching for? Like the sunflower leans to the sun, I lean into the light falling from your eyes. I bask in your rays, gilded with golden glow from head to toe, motionless and Roman.
Oh wind! Blow a little harder! I can’t have the consequences lying around for evaluation. It’s far more important that they stay locked up like a little black book. Take them to the ends of the earth. Take them to the desert and let the sand erode away the foreboding ink; let the sun bleach the past.
Oh but you are the sun! And you render me fresh every day, white and clean as a new piece of paper. Where are your scribbled notes? Don’t take them away. I love the cursive on my t-shirt. I love the patches on my knees. Let us keep going. Forget about shining. Darken us, deepen us, but forget about us fading away.
We are not ink.
We are flesh.
You are the sun, patron of musicians and poets.
And I am Sirius, scorching brighter, but father.
Shining together, one and two in a world of giants.
And will we collide?
