Of the sun, one winter afternoon —
the sun close to setting, one afternoon
after staring into a star too soon
and long before it disappeared: noon
the time when drought takes one
by surprise. And lessons, afternoons
with father, his solar physics — don't
stare or you'll go blind, eclipsed sun,
half sun, quarter sun, sun through pin-
hole camera, after all he was the sun
and the moon together — a web spun
of such sheerness, his disappearance.
Afterimages spring green and red, suns
float against closed eyes and afternoons.
From him — the Pater — must come afternoon.
What is it to be awake, else to mourn the One?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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