DARK SUN

Fine weather, sunlight pouring,

I head downstairs for a walk to prove it.

But in my heart’s a knot of shadows,

neither a quilt to air,

nor that car at the corner

vanishing as it turns.

Unlike the sun’s shade,

it dwells in its own dark core,

dense yet empty.

If the sun’s heart’s bright,

this is the yolk of darkness.

My feet stand in ashes,

the shadow in my heart

curled like a rat

in winter’s burrow.

When it wakes

black night unfurls,

its dark sun relentless, ascendant.