Prayer of the Sun
In the birdcalls of the morning
the sun stretches up his arms,
climbing tree trunks with the squirrels
from his bed in the mossy forest;
Through the endlessness of sky,
luminous sheets fall to the side,
and the king sits with his coffee
afront the altar of the Earth.
His crystals curl
around the horizons
of my shut eyes
and my open home,
embracing me with his glory
and kissing my heart with his endless warmth.
Just before he stands
he radiates a prayer,
that transports me into his center
like my body was never there.
“Nothing is different now
than it has ever been.
Some will leave with me this hour
and some are born again.”
“Nothing disappears, my friend.
If it was, then it remains;
Arranged differently, perhaps,
But nothing’s lost when nothing’s gained.”
