POEM: The Hour of the Sun

Posted on July 25, 2020 by B Gourley

Like muscle-bound bouncers,
the twin mountains stood —
ominous & imposing.

An hour of light per day
squeezed between those broad shoulders.

One hour of sunlight —
in the good seasons,
when there was sun.

The villagers’ days pivoted on that hour.

Whatever is the opposite of a siesta, they lived it.
A fiesta?
an hour of frenetic love…
of dance
of the outdoors
of the sun
of love, itself.

Outsiders found the place dismal & gloomy,
but they never loved the sun
like those villagers love the sun.

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