Dan Champion

I sit in my lawn

That used to be green

The sun ripens my back

Its rays warm me to the point of perspiration

Like the feeling of a hug from a conformingly soft woman's body

My shadow intersects a wall in front of me, insecurely

For it is not a sharp shadow, it is fickle, not sure of its true position

Leaving a dull blurry boundary

But why? The light does not diffract in such a distance

Am I a blurry dull silhouette?

I view the source of this inquiry, even though my mother told me not to

The rays enlighten my eyes

I squint until my eyes become 1-dimentional lines

How careless of me, for the sun is not an infinitesimal point

Like that of my pupil

It is a great sphere

Its light comes from it's top, bottom and everywhere in between

I view my shadow now content that I am not dull and blurry

It is the source that is not coherent