The whole earth twisting
to catch a glimpse
of Your fierce fire,
I squint through the ether.
Distant, nestled among star-cousins,
Your light is sullied by the dust storms of war
and suffocated by the smog of commerce.
Even the top of the world is weary
of sun and snow and never sleeping.
I draw the curtains, apply sunscreen,
fearing You will get under my skin and
curse me with cancer.
I wait, shivering beneath the charcoal moon,
only for Your light to reach me
8 minutes late.
One day You’ll die and us with You.
Until then, we spin.
Perhaps You stay away
for fear of burning us.
Perhaps one day You’ll fashion for me
wax wings even You cannot melt.