Sunmise

Ten minutes prior
to my lyre's ten thousandth
sunrise, a hundred surmises
appeared in my chrysanthemum.
Be still, my life, the shadows
are here, waiting like umbrellas
embracing their tears. Be willing,
my knife, to cut down the sun,
this darkness must sum up
and divide my lungs. One must
be two and the moon must 
crash down. My haunted moist
lies are brash and profound.
On this sweaty dawn, this salty
sand bar, an ocean of healthiness
evaporates tar.