Cloud Confession

By Ken Woodley

the sun
relentlessly refuses
an alibi
for shining
in a blue sky
on everyone and everything,
infuriating the raining power,
which washes its hands
of the whole matter,
allowing a small mob
of thunder and lightning
to pass judgment.
So they crucify
the sun,
nailing its light
to a darkness
they believe eternal,
but the stars
bleed small pools of shining
and the moon
digs in its heels,
shouting for all the world to hear:
“I am not the light.
There is something out there
so wondrous, pure and bright
that I cannot possibly
refuse to reflect
its message and meaning.
You can shine, too, unless
you turn yourself off.”
And then literally the very next day—
no apocryphal myth, I assure you—
the sun actually rises,
I mean, straight up,
just as promised,
absolute dawn
despite hammers and nails and thorns
and our own Judas clouds
that sometimes cover
the whole

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