Burning Holes

Turning back the night.

I like to sit
and watch it
burn a hole
in the sky.

I like to start
early, long
before blue
has declared
it's back.

A hole being burned into the sky over San Francisco Bay, 5.20.21.

I like to watch it
burn through 
the clouds
and fog
and mist
and any misconceptions
of what it is.

The almighty 
on button,
at it's simplest, 
turning back 
the night
by turning on 
the light 
of the day,
pulling the birds
back into the sky
and the boats
back onto the bay.

It liberates 
the trees,
helping them 
reach higher
and wider
and, if they're lucky,
wilder, too.

It turns up
the volume 
and accelerates 
the pace of everything 
we do as we move
through our day
after day after day
in every corner 
of the world.

Much like a river,
it never burns
the same hole
in the same place,
moving incrementally,
methodically,
always anew,
always hopeful.