The Capstone

July is never gone.

My sun returns to remind me

of the boy

born before being.

I watch

as he unties his celestial knot,

measuring years

by feet in dirt,

chewing a past

unbecoming of the sky.

Arise.

I wash his wounds in light.

I leave his curtain open,

him nude,

hang-drying in the night sky,

alone.

Alone,

his will

fell into mine.

Falling found flight.

Now,

his chariot circles me,

for the other stars

to see.

A string

staked in soil.

A heart

refusing its own weight.

His foot in the dirt,

it is mine, too.

Together,

tied by night,

a laughing ballerina,

learning balance.

My sun.

A dancer in the dark.

He himself shines,

yet freely,

He turns toward me

another time.