Pyramid of the Sun


by the chores
of the day, trips
to the fields to raze
rocks and plow, ignore
the coming and going clouds,

droplets of water hung in the air,
prism beads bending the blinding glare
off at exacting angles, away from the fields.

This shrouded day baths another place, dreams,
landscapes, horizons, to him it’s a pallet, a pyramid,

to the field hand whose eyes wander, imagining its building.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

One thought on “Pyramid of the Sun

  1. After reading the last line, I then glanced at the form of the poem, and was pleasantly surprised. I wonder how long you took to get this to look like a pyramid and get the words in the right way. Very nicely done. I also try to experiment with the visual style of the poem, but nothing has come out this nice looking yet.

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