The Fist

There are days
when the sun goes down
like a fist,
though of course

if you see anything
in the heavens this way
you had better get

your eyes checked
or, better still,
your diminished spirit.
The heavens

have no fist,
or wouldn't they have been
shaking it
for a thousand years now,

and even
longer than that,
at the dull, brutish
ways of mankind -

heaven's own
creation?
Instead: such patience!
Such willingness

to let us continue!
To hear,
little by little,
the voices -

only, so far, in
pockets of the world -
suggesting the possibilities

of peace?

Keep looking.
Behold, how the fist opens
with invitation.

The sun sets, closing the fist of light so that in the dark we may reflect upon the shadows of our souls. Each night we have the opportunity to review the day and where we have participated in harm in the world. Also too how our celebrations have given life to others. We have the day blind stars above us who do not judge, but hold witness to what we have done. Then, in the morning, after a night of reckoning, the rising sun opens a fist and the fingers of heaven might even wiggle beckoning us in a come hither motion. “You may begin anew” invites the burgeoning light. Oh how I love these mornings – a new start. Every 24 hours a reckoning and a beckoning.

What would you begin again this day?