1633 in Villa Medici

such a sun I’d chosen
pulled it from a notion
polished it with prose and
oh how it shone all golden
I guess I got my science wrong
trying to move around a sun
next up I’ll think that the earth is round
first comes the ache of dawn
then the birds break out in song
then all we know comes falling down
such a sun
a golden bowl, a molten lung
such emotion
a violent hymn, a pendulum
such work begun
to be unpicked, unstitched, unsewn
a once-sung wonder overthrown
and I alone, alone
yet not struck dumb