now, i'm going to show you how i take the sun down from the sky without getting burned. this has to happen once every few weeks for cleaning. you might ask, why us? but it is not our job to question the universe's needs. first, you will require the tallest tree you can find. a ladder will not do, only a tree knows how to bend. i have a favorite tree in the woods & i climb the branches like a vine. birds rush away, knowing the impending heat. once up above the world i dream of feathers, a whole jar of feathers all floating down to the dirt. who am i? i am just a warm fragment, a sliver of sun coils in me. two oven mitts & a pair of tongs. i clamp the sun's edge & tug until it descends easy as bowl of lettuce tumbling from a shelf. don't worry. it is hard to break the sun. what it really needs is for you to tell it a story. hold the sun tight & invent something about love-- tell the fire that you are so deeply in love that you have not slept for three nights. it does not have to be even close to the truth. in fact, it is better you not confess to the sun because then whenever you feel heat you'll remember the sun knows all your secrets. the sun wants to be awed. up there, he is lonely. he wants to feel known. you can ask him questions too like "who was your first love?" & "where will you hover tonight?" he will not answer but his fire will flare. you might be wondering "what about us?" who will take us down from our beds & know us? we are not celestial bodies. we are just boys who pass a secret from father to son & father to son. what happens if we stop? we don't know. no one has ever stopped. you must never stop. crawl up to the sun, now. tell me have haven't been curious about the orange whirl & the voice of heat? go to the sun. let your shadow be tugged from your body long & wild & come back to me. to tell me the story you told into the glow.