The sun is bright this summer in Seattle. Brighter than we expect it to be. An unaccustomed companion before July 4th, when our local summer usually begins.
Our sun is metaphorically powerful, and it is among the multitude of suns that populate the universe, and the envelope of metaphors available to people so inclined. I had some fun with that for the July poem.
The sonnet form here is actually faithful and tight, although I deconstructed it a bit in this lineation, as I have done before.
Suns – A Sonnet
As though it were a thousand suns—
Reality aflame—come from wherever
It is such things are done (eternal truths
And rules of thumb made so for us)—
I saw you there. You
were ashine
In gossamer light—a hundred suns
Could not compare to you and how
You brought me sight of what can be
And what is so—what burns now
In my breast as though a dozen suns—
As though they shone as one—
And so the rest are chorus only—
Truth—and one is all I need—
You are the sun.
