Every Sun, Any Daughters

Every time you see her smile,
she smiles at you–
just most of the time,
the smile of the blind.

The sun is always setting
somewhere.

Your soil is the past.
Your roots have no form but thoughts.
They are not flesh or wood anymore,
at least not the same flesh or wood.

There is nowhere
the sun is always setting.

Only thoughts.
Little lives in our heads,
pages and mouths.
A kiss for each of them.

I’ll kiss each of your ancestors
if you kiss mine.
Tell her this,
and use her lips.

It’s not the sun
moving.

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2 thoughts on “Every Sun, Any Daughters

  1. Greg, I ‘m so glad that Whitey is still around and that you keep on putting all your weird, wonderful, deep thoughts on paper. .. or how do you say in this digital world. ..? My thoughts are still with you from time to time. ..
    Take care and stay nuts!
    Patricia

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