My first great mystery was the sun. 
I wanted to understand its blinding
haze, the warm bath on the floor. I wanted
to see its freckles, magnetic and charred, 
rays that dotted my skin with my own sunspots: 
my jaw’s constellation, crumb on my lip, 
patch on my back like a fairy circle, 
summer’s dregs. I wanted to know its real, 
corporeal shape. Eyes wide, unblinking, 
searching for its outline until my vision 
flashed bronze, ochre, mauve, coronas of blue. 
I closed my eyes, pressed my fists against them,
watched colors flood the inside of my lids. 
I searched for an answer but none came.