I prize my gift from the sun,
the smooth ebony blanket
that trails in my path.
It bears the token of my progress,
like a toll booth of past endowments,
always full of unanswered prayer.
Dark rolling hills
course into crisp black peaks,
unloved by clouds of rain.
They too pride themselves
in the sheet music they cast
upon the broken ivory plains.
It orchestrates a song of light and dark,
bowing the sky above.
And just like the jester does,
they dance their piece before my eyes,
an unlawful jig of greedy possessions.
I lurch out for their unsteady hands,
but quickly unclench the scorched earth
that paints my way.
The Sun insults me,
but I pay my toll once more,
and dance along.