Nothing the Blinding Sun

And why does it hurt you so badly?
Why can’t you gaze on it without harm?

The waves of the sun on the lake’s waves
Hurt your eyes, and would kill you quickly

Without this atmosphere shielding you.
The green lake shimmers. It’s not enough

To note how miraculously tuned
For survival, the specs of this world.

Why dream a cosmos in which life’s rare,
In which everything must be balanced

Just so—radiation, not too much,
Temperature range not terribly wide,

The molecular mix, gravity—
Everything ready for Goldilocks?

This cosmos of the thin lines between
Dead and alive, fecund and barren,

Love and hate. A motorboat parades
A water-skier around the lake,

Throwing wake sideways while a stiff breeze
Coming off the wildfires to the west

Blows the long waves back the other way.
Most of this world is Goldilocks’ waste.