Sit on the Sun

Slouching slinking burn-victims
Spread all over the sea
In the nitroglycerine tides
Falling all over the world
Making it the doll of
Never-kept sunrise over
Blooming pavilions of all kinds of flowers
Felt out to hands
Left out to dry
Undone by reeds in the wind.

The way the universe smells today
Reminds me of a cat I had in 1977,
The day I was one year old.
I can’t remember back that far in words.
She lasted until I was in high school,
Then went the way of all beings:
Away from here.

How can all the feeling in the world account for
Such regular, run-of-the-mill
Tragic losses?
Where must we sit on this train to enjoy
The most spectacular view
The sun in our eyes
And ears
And skin
Not letting anything else perpetrate its
Vision on “reality”?

Maybe sit on the sun, itself.
That would do for feeling.