The clouds in relentless succession
chase each other and chase each other
till all that remains is a rash of white
disintegrating fluff across the Sun’s face.
The sun, when it powers through
still beautiful and strong,
makes clear what should have been so all along.
The tension I stared through was a window on the sun
though I saw it as some balloon stealing my breath,
and feared, however big my chest, I would succumb.
I did not see love
that bright stationary bulb
was dimmed only for a time,
never to be outdone.
