David Edelman

Small Sun

Westport Quays, Ireland

When the drizzle finally thins out,
when the wind dies down and the channel smooths,
when reflections of the orange-roofed boathouse
and bare trees at the edge of the island

sharpen and still, we take it as a kind of peace
that reminds us of what we could
make of the world, what, if we live long enough,
we might yet see, as now a robin 

lands among the branches
and pours out its loud, twirly song,
its flash of orange a small sun
burning through the mist.

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