Humbly Beneath Them

January, blue sky,
Sycamore:
Sun.

My world
Through my windshield:
I am looking up.

These are familiar objects.
These are new to me:
These are everything.

The sycamore claims the light,
Turns it white,
Reflects it

And there is a dialogue
Between reflected light
And sunlight

That grows intimate,
Intense,
Eternal.

And here comes Prometheus
To give us a stake in the game.
And here is Zeus saying, “WTF?”

The air is too cold
To carry the heat of the flame
And its reflection.

The air is quiet,
Free from buoyant children.
The sycamore claims light,

Wicks it right back up to the sky.
We say, “Wait; Make us giddy with light.’
We wait.

The time will come.
The sycamore will be in full leaf.
Children will come out to play.

We will feel the heat of sunshine.
Prometheus will pay the price:
But we will honor his theft

In the only way we can:
We will carve our roads around the sycamore.
We will let them be.

We will pass humbly beneath them.
We will cherish the light.