For a Summer Solstice Divorce
The sun stood still. I stare its invisible roots into my stomach.
This thinking light mingles in blood. Soda bubbles tick against ice
as an ex-ray illuminates the weakness in my arm.
Its not happy hour.
I cannot hold the knife long enough for autopsy.
To dissect would only be a series of cuts and puzzling rot.
But if you ignore the corpse, you’ll follow its ghost.
The sun belts its knowing urges toward me: Know Know Know! But I don’t.
And it’s not the not-knowing of a sage. It’s knot-knowing.
A mirror concentrates perfectly - no opinions diluting truth.
I will aim my heart lake toward the sun. Is there anything clearer
than mourning light on water?