Sometimes the sun
rises and stays
so long that
when it leaves
its a shock
reverberant as
a thunderclap.
A surge of yellow
a wash of red
then black and
the stars
and the moon
on your face
and I cannot breathe
in the midst of the
heavy, unbearable
beauty of the bar
closing
and last call
and already I feel,
deep in my ribcage,
the globe rotating
and the axis groaning,
a coin spun into
the well of gravity and
the swinging kinetic
charge of sunrise
burning and al-
ready on the other
horizon.
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