For the sun’s approximate blaze, what
would we not do? Outline the gray sky thin
as an eyelid with smoky kohl, powder it
soft bronze. Sweater the tops of trees
in golden yellow, pin bunches of cerise
on the crumpled fields. Lob it a bangle
or two: what do those crows know,
dressed as always in their suits of drab—
on the first day of the year, gargling
like that 18-wheeler into town?
—Luisa A. Igloria
In response to today’s Morning Porch entry.