Solar Cycle

Letting the light pass into his head

he anticipates a friendly thought

but rushing douses even the most eager flame,

returns him to that same brain

which made magic of its apparition

and sits like your living room at night;

expecting each new thing to be the same,

he sits, until he senses sun again.

Sparked into recognition of an other place

each cloud break now connotes a blinding birth.

At every joyous apex he can see again,
ignore the fluctuation of the weather vane.