Here. Now. At the mountain’s highest point,
surrounded by snow like the poem’s white
unwritten page, I stand with my staff,
a sunlight shaft through the highest tree
pierces me with the knowledge of myself.
I have written more elsewhere about axis mundi – the center of the world.
Northern Hemisphere June’s early-morning light accompanies me.
Perhaps it’s the same as September sunlight
but the earliest sunrises of the year
happen now with the northern summer solstice
and year’s longest day a week away.
Curled on a grassy circle of sunlight,
looking up at the clouds, I am
seven years old again. My parents are
healthy, happy and will always be alive.
Sun-powered, I can do anything on Earth.
A dark cloud blocks the window’s sunbeam.
I return to the cold, wood floor.
My old eyes -sun-blinded – burn and tear.
When I stand up, my body protests
and aches from more than just years.