The Sun

There in the center

Does she think about Earth?
About the troubles of ants?
And the presence or absence of atmosphere?

Does she contemplate Jupiter’s spot?
Does she imagine, for just  a moment, reaching out to spin the rings on Saturn?
Sending one careening around, like a dropped quarter rolling on its ridges

Perhaps the sun is too busy for that
Managing flares, holding tight to its marble treasures
staying the advancement of time

Perhaps, in the center, she can’t even see it all
How Pluto forgives,
How Venus brushes against the grain,
How  Uranus rolls away perpetually,
Like a dog pulling against a leash that doesn’t give.

Nichole M. Dulin


3 thoughts on “The Sun

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