By Hilvie Ostrow, Becketwood Member
The sun relaxes in the sand
And, like a lazy centipede,
Projects a hundred glowing feet,
Igniting tips of waves with jeweled crowns
of incandescent light
Then, like some sweet contagious malady,
Infects the beach with warmth.
It wraps a copper coat around the pallid backs
And hungry limbs of bathers, lying raw, untanned,
While by each side, a passive hand
Lies open to a dream.
The sun begins to frolic on the golden heads
of children playing in the sand.
Cracking the stubborn crust with baby brawn
Young architects of fantasy
Create a castle dream.
The sun sits like a boil
Upon a city street.
It sears the bald façades and myriad eyes
Of business sanctuaries, standing in the skies.
Shades descend and air-conditioners begin to hum
While unprotected men who toil
Inhale the unadulterated breath of summer sun.
They feel the sting of biting solar rage
Upon their naked backs.
And blocks away, barefoot kids of eager age
Escape from stifling shacks
To sting their feet on whitened sidewalks,
Stretching now like gleaming sheets of ice.
The sun is a hermit in the heart of life.
Within the cloister of a seed, a root, a vine
It fills its sacred office by obscure design.
Peacemaker in organic strife,
It nourishes the hungry cells of leaves with chlorophyll.
It forces tiny seeds to burst their seams
And magnifies the ripening fruit on fertile trees, UNTIL
One apple falls
And generates a crop of childhood dreams.