He stands with the sun in his hands
Roots twined around his ankles
Thorns knotted at his calves.
He knows who he is and
What he wants.
He knows what he stands for and
Why he rests easy at night. He knows why he
Breathes life into the fragile world.
The daytime beacon dies often in
His hands. Light flickers like the
Moon in agony behind cloud.
He shines on
An uncertain constant
In sync with the feminine
Streaking through his constellation eyes.