Something Turned Quiet

The sun never quite belongs
to itself anyway. Eclipsed, or
with countless reflections, energy
converted to the rapid molecules
of dehydration, heat, photosynthesis
welling up evergreen and deciduous.

While it still blazes on and on,
persisting like any other engine,
I wonder if maybe it could
belong more to the obscurity of night,
when you can see the numberless stars
that make the most of the moon,

shimmering spectral in the lunar
calm of the lake’s garden, wavering
without much of an afterthought.