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Collected Poetry

    (rd king dot net)
poetry and digital art

In California

  The Sun 


We were born beneath the sun.  And the sun
is tempered, sometimes bitten by the wind.
The same wind is tempered by the water, that

same water that freezes our mountains
in the high and lonely winter and brings
good life, in spring, to the once barren

but now pleasant and fruitful valleys.
In this land where the sky can seem
as litanical as the elected speakers,

millions crawl here and there, unfettered,
riding the slow slide of this great behemoth—
some languid with fecundity, some now free

from foreign nuisances, each taking
his evening meal, the sun slipping away,
the wind nil, the waters running.




 
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