A Place in the Sun

and you stand up
through all seasons,
through the vagaries
of follies
made and unmade,
through the giant web
of sprawling roots
you cannot call your own,
through fingers of God
rooted in the dark
and in the beckoning light,
there's always work to be done;
and yet you stand up
through every storm,
for everything
that you already are,
not to shed or flaunt
your sprightly leaves,
or to hold up a star;
you stand tall
through all trespasses
forgotten and forgiven,
through empty houses,
abandoned shadows,
and fresh newborn leaves
made in heaven;
you stand in the blaze
of a thousand burning suns,
as if nothing has happened,
your form, the grist
for the tireless mill
that's never too far away
from home.