SOMETIMES the sun turns hostile to men
when the daytime consciousness
has got overweening
when thoughts are stiff, like old leaves
and ideas are hard, like acorns
ready to fall.
Then the sun turns hostile to us
and bites at our throats and
chests
as he bites
at the stems of leaves in autumn, to make them
fall.
Then we suffer, and though the sun bronzes
us
we feel him
strangling even more the issues of our soul
for he is hostile to all the
old leafy foliage of our thoughts
and the old upward flowing of our sap, the
pressure of our
upward flow of feeling
is against him.
Then only under the moon, cool and
unconcerned
calm
with the calm of scimitars and brilliant reaping hooks
sweeping the curve of space and
moving the silence
we have peace.