The Quiet Sun

Just as I was taught to kneel, the sun became foreign to me. How to speak after a different daylight emerges? Name that black chamber, its seamless, quiescent surface. Speak after an epoch, an apocalypse—find again that strange word for dew.

Uncover a grain of light amid the reft between us. That word you pondered and turned about, ultimately left at contact’s door.

Tell me the name of this descant, its felted slide into the sea. Tell me the name of that absented hour, the space where solar shores failed to meet.

Quietness, a virtue. Harmonic darkness without intent, the vast cosmos of what is neither felt nor seen. No light against those furloughs.

Whose name bends without my attention.


Sueyuen Juliette Lee

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: