Breath of the sun, crowned
In green crepes and amber beads
Children’s voices at the door of Orient
Raising eyelids on the sluggish earth
Dispersing sulphur fumes above the lake
Of awakening, you come hunting with the sun
His hands upon the loftiest branches
Halted on the prize, eyes in wonderlust
Questioned this mystery of man’s isolation
Fantasies richer than burning mangoes
Flickered through his royal mind, an open
Noon above the door that closed
I would you may discover, mid-morning
To the man’s estate, with lesser pain
The wall of gain within the outer loss
Your flutes at evening, your seed-awakening
Dances fill the night with growth; I hear
The sun’s sad chorus to your starlit songs.
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