Solar / Star-Taler
Row upon row of silvery-black panels,
tilt toward the house of God
which is the sun.
.
There’s a microscopic world
we can barely even imagine –
blazing photons that stream
across ninety million miles of space
to shower these thin glass planes
with a billion small shocks,
bright abundance that falls
even through cool northern skies,
even on our dullest days –
gold so plentiful we cannot catch it all,
but spread these panels like nets
beneath a tree of golden apricots
or apron-skirts catching yellow windfalls.
And I think of that German fairy tale
of the little orphan girl
who gave away everything she owned –
her loaf of good black bread, her clothes –
until she stood in a dark wood,
not a stitch to cover her nakedness
teeth clattering, praying hard,
who found herself suddenly arrayed
in finest linen, and all around her
falling star-gold – motes
she spread her skirts to catch –
so many coins she never hungered
or was cold again. The poorest countries
are rich in sunshine.
This is what I wish for them. Click below to buttons below to expand the poems














