Everything Beneath the Sun

At dawn, the dragon stirs

beneath the earth's thin crust,

but breathes a fading fire.

The sun has mastered

entering quietly,

as though apologizing

for its bright days.

There are mornings

the light must be talked into the day.

And each morning,

a little less of him returns.

I wonder if he still longs

for the green inviting of spring,

or summer's endless asking,

or if he loves autumn most,

when the shadows grow long enough

to cover him,

and he need not see

his own sorrow.

I think I understand the sun.

And all the things beneath it.

Marni Fraser

10.2026

1990’s