where will the sun go when it
is finished--?

i broke the yolk of
the sun with corner of my spoon--
soaked up the ooze of the fat
with the corner of a bed sheet--
the crust of the wheat bread
triangles--
this is what our mother left for
us-- 
watch the sun dig a grave
with me--
fist after fists after fist
of dirty horizon--
is that where you'll finally
lay down with me?-- bent
back of the woman 
who carries the earth
like a sack of golden delicious 
apples slung over her shoulder--
the sack rips
and lets loose the suns--
uneven and bruised from
the fall--
tape the apples back into
the tree when they all have departed--
re-sew each leaf to
the naked torso--
resist autumn if you can
before your eyelids grow too
heavy with the weight of
egg yolk and soil--
let's wrap this up in a bed sheet--
i wonder how many more years
the sun can keep this up
and where will she go
when her work here is finished?
do you get tired like
the sun 
my love?
resurrected every day--
the burst of an egg shell
on the bed post--
if i could run away with
a star i would take
it somewhere so bright
that it could rest--
uncurl her coiled spin
and sprawl out on a park
bench to watch the squirrels
tuck pieces of stars into the
ground to grow 
new elm trees--
the sun bleeds cardinals
in april-- blue-bird
lipped
in march and waiting
for there to be enough
eggs to make a quiche in the
oven-- your mother will
visit when the sun is finished
and there will be cupcakes
with too much frosting--
blow out the candles
so everything can be dark--
this is the silence the
earth yearned for from the 
depths of her throat--
screamed so loud it was
all eaten by the descent 
of the sun into 
the dirt-- oozing 
stones under finger nails--
dig a grave with me for
the light to sleep in--
crawl in crawl in
i'll tell the cardinals to
write our names on the tomb stone
underneath the name of the sun--
pass the salt and pepper
we'll eat our eggs in the dark--