the sun is a coin I saw her in April her sheer hair as white as silver spoons her handbag a devoted dog preciously placed upon her shadowed lap containing lipstick and comb the sun is a coin the next day and the following day again I saw her with her silver spoon hair and her dog the sun is on Sunday I bring her home light as the air we breathe moments and minutes move like clouds across an endless sky then a pale crimson blossoms her bloodless cheeks and her mouth becomes a pink plum am I? she asks am I your mother? afraid of the answer she turns to the coin
in the sky