by J.R. Solonche

 

Your heat is a debt that the stones pay back to the night.
You are a gardener who works without using any tools.

You turn the water into ghosts and the seeds into kings.
You are a fire that warms the world without burning the house.

Everything we see is a shadow that you have let go.
Your light is a guest who arrives without knocking.

You are a golden hammer that softens the world.
The sky is a blue page that your fire is reading.

You are a golden carpenter building the day.
You use no nails but the beams of light.

The morning is a door that your fire pushes open.
You are a clock that does not care about the time.

You turn the green leaf into a factory of life.
Your setting is your red signature on a finished work.

You are a golden lion that sleeps in the west.
Your heat is a long story that the stones are telling.

You turn the white water into a ladder of mist.
The dark is just you turning your back to the room.

You are a golden baker who never burns the bread.
Your light is a yellow ink that writes on every leaf.

You are a clock that measures everything but itself.
The night is the only thing you cannot understand.

 

 

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Nominated for the Eric Hoffer Book Award, twice for the National Book Award and three times for the Pulitzer Prize, J.R. Solonche is the author of more than 50 books of poetry and coauthor of another. He lives in the Hudson Valley.