Newly born of night, my sun rose clean and clear
into a dawn that faltered as it moved towards true light, true warmth;
no cloud to warn, no single drop of rain
from low heights of high hopes.
Into the dawn to wither?
Into the noon to die of darkness and misgivings of What?
Into the highest noon
like one of many cold stars that day.
Bright is the sun, clear is the dawn,
warm is the Summer that the Spring entailed:
distance, silent far-off space, has made the day so dark.