Classic Poem

Barrel of the sun, gun-wad,
cloud packed, cools to Napoleonic
afterglow. The sun is soldier
and hero, after all; always on call
to strike the last pose, profiling
its rays across the grateful landscape.
Ragged mountains lift up to meet
it, plains puff out chests, the sea
a carnival of light, ice packs
bristle, glaciers growl. Time spins
on a coin. Horizon shakes its
dirty mat over cityscape, over glass
and concrete conspiracies -
roads burn fuses into nightways.