I suppose you'd want, right about now
an example?
There's one right above
comes to mind:
How the hieroglyphs said
it was the sun
that was worshiped
And it went down like an ancient game
of telephone
To the Babel of Religions we know
and don't understand
today ...
When, in fact, the sun worships us! For we are
The makers of sense,
the keepers of law,
The consciousness of life,
who still stayed
Like sprouts inside a jar, within the parameters
of the small.
How could light be denied
to such souls,
How could the flow back and forth be disputed?
One keels, the other tacks, one energizes backs,
One digs in dirt to plant—
Thus Homo luminous becomes love,
growing wings
at each abyss he is connecting
In a tapestry that shines in the sun
As an offering of what
came from him.
But the sun has someone else,
The blue Sirian
known by Alexandrian priests.
He leaves us with the moon
So we may know him by his absence,
unrepentant darkness.
The lion, bored with explanation,
has slept all day
in golden light,
Gaining life as he
became illuminated.
He will come out at night
so we'll know
Things are there
even if they can't be seen,
Like the galaxies that pour
new ambrosia
in our souls.
