Today, As It Is Out, I Will Turn My Face To The Sun

Today, as it is out, I will turn my face to the sun –
the mild cold enlivening, mid-day with jumpers off.
I feel I am emerging into something.
The shadows along the trail go cringing back
into their shadows.

There is more life to go around my limbs:
the head-cold not debilitating; work’s
Irritations risible again.
A whole and plausible structure rises
dripping from the slough.
Soon it will put out legs and lumber onwards,
tolling its great bell.

I gather up some pride; the sun approves,
looks kindly on my time-wasting,
the little industry of self-indulgence.
I am a silly, sullen creature; sullen
and forgiven

in the broadest of exoneration,
the sun’s wide and indifferent amnesty
which touches the canal-boats, the canal,
gleaming upon the waters in the wake
of the boats’ passing.

Today, while it is out, I turn my face to the sun,
and while it is not out, to the future
likelihood of sun.
The forecast sun reserves, prepares its rays.
I reach for my good jumper in the shade.