Who like to track them,
Who like to track us,
Tend to start out dark,
With lots of dour words
For the starts of days,
And then lift like fog.
By midday we’re bright,
But hope-and-joy words
Don’t peak ‘til past dusk.
Then we sink. So, there.
For all our false lights
And weird hours we keep,
The moods of our flesh
Still chase the old sun,
That great God and Lord
Of the Light who sails
In his boat, too high
And too hot for us
To so much as watch.
We think on all things.
We make deals. We fight.
We pray. Work things out.
We work hard. Our souls,
Poor worms, chase one light.
