The Sun
Now the days are drops
Growing full, ready to fall,
Melting like sunlight as the fog burns off.
The difficulties of the body
Drag the mind around.
Sunshine break through!
I’m calling you!
A flock of quail two days old
Turn the grass to liquid motion
As they pass.
Their reassuring calls
Through the afternoon
Resurrects my mood.
Through illusions cracks
Souls can fall
Where is love without the sun?
My life tries to rise up
To meet this day and it does.
For the sun just now has touched
This page.
Bionote
Indigo Joanne Hotchkiss was born in Binghamton, New York in 1933. She has had her poems published in San Francisco Magazine, Oxygen, Plexus, The Steelhead Special, Avocet, and in the anthologies Cries of the Spirit and The Other Side of the Postcard. She has taught yoga and worked with runaways. She has organized and hosted several poetry reading series. She is one of the founding editors of the Haight Ashbury Literary Journal.
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