The Sun and the Body

From its Rising to its Setting
the sun travels a terrifying path—through fog, through solar winds, through ash.
And as it rises over the mountain, it spies my body languishing alone,
my forgotten body.
The sun, stopping, bends down and says to the body:
“Come with me—we have no time, we must be on our way.”
The body recognizes the voice of its wife and, with a cry, says to her:
“Lead me, my dear one, through death into life!”
The sun climbs higher, its face looking down,
but the body remains on the mountain, weighed down by heavy illness.
The next day the same thing happens again, and again the day after.
And every day the sun starts out from the land of its Rising
and travels to the lands of its Setting,
where it drops suddenly into the ocean of oceans
to cool its wounds.

But one fine day as it calls out to the body
and then climbs higher, it does not see that behind it in the heights
the body, too, is flying, drinking the wine of the Sunlight.