Sunlit Interiors

Tiny orb of light that in my hand grows,
I chide you as if you were a child,
You come with lynx-and-eagle eyes
To help me summer-clean my house.
You burn inside my head with freezing fire,
And though I chide you, sun,
You are welcome in these rooms.

Orb of light, you expand and throw
Your beams on every speck of dust,
You cast the deepest, longest shadows,
Impossible to scrub away, and yet
Your fire-finger with its golden touch
Lets bounteous sparkles loose
To catch on dull accoutrements.

Incurable hound, you lie on sofas,
Pent-up ball, whimpering in your sleep,
Huge, brooding furnace,
You flare into brute and natural
Temper at the sound of threat. Not true.
I hold you tenderly in my hand, dear orb,
I will not chide, you are too bright.
Unfurl your wings, magic beast of fire,
And take up residence in the clouds.

Linda Marshall

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