My Darkling Sins, and the Sun

The sun has bluntly indiscriminately spun its wonders
over all my sundry blunderings today: caught me
bumping some girl’s ankle with a bag of sharp-edged
books – although I didn’t know it ‘til I’d heard her
somewhere down the sidewalk say, “you know, that
really hurt!” – I looked around: I couldn’t find the creature
I had smashed – too blinded by the noonday light:

I felt abashed. Now I’ve come home and now the sun
is thunderously glaring at me through the windows’ wooden
slats as if to pick more spats: I have to look away. It knows
I bought a ticket to a Liza concert at the Palace I could
not afford today – and for a Wednesday night! – midweek! –
ridiculously late! – then watched me pick up chocolate-
covered doughnuts at the supermarket: not appeased

that they at least were mini. And so I sit and pout –
and bid the shadows lengthen out – which they've now done –
and my stark sun begins its gentle and inevitable run
into whatever lies behind horizons – leaves me with
my darkling sins – in quietude so strangely unexpected
and spectacularly sensuous I feel redeemed. Perhaps
the sun was not as disapproving as it seemed.



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