The Sun warned me at six o’clock—
Its beams seeped between the grains of time that
Settled at the bottom of curved glass after twenty more minutes.
So I washed my canvas to repaint the same picture as the days before—
My preparation to worship the Godly life I spring form
Through the glass of a 96’ Park Avenue.
As I drove, my eyes tasted the frothy sky—
Its purity was the pink espresso pulled from the Sun;
A scarlet crema poured with such unspecific care,
That even Venus would crave its taste.
While my eyes feasted on the sky, my body indulged in
The crispness of wheat fields crashing on the Earthy shore—
Separate fields bent to the same sound,
And for a moment,
I am one with the Sun’s finest creation
As my car jostles down a forgotten road.
I felt her grasp weaken as Man’s bricks mask her work—
But as I braved the turn onto Artificial Drive
She reassured me with her beaming arms
Through the cracks of an ally—
A reminder the day is not done, but rather, just begun,
And I can worship on her journey westward.