The Orchard

There’s some character
To the wanderer
You know as sunlight—
Not only burning
And pure agency,

But a persona,
Maybe real as yours
(Yours being less real
Than each persona,
Of itself, expects.)

The sunlight, then, must
Want something, sometimes
Must experience
Desire and hunger,
Young lights in your life.

The sunlight’s squinting
At you from the back
Of a large boulder,
Taking your measure.
You would like to be

What the sunlight would
Like to be, what you
Can’t be unless sun
Drives you there, across
Fallen apple trees.