how the sun rises / how it never stops / can be easily explained // people can be taught and trained / science and theory / from old history

A poem from my book, House of Words (Korrektiv Press, 2010, p. 11) and a recently unearthed earlier version published in The Whitman College Pioneer (Feb 12, 1987, p. 9).

Written and performed by Jonathan Potter (jopomojo poetry podcast, 2023).

Listen to the audio above and let me know in the comments which version you prefer.

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The opening of the gate may be early, may be late, but enter, don't hesitate, this is your time, so seize it, grab the sunrise and squeeze it onto your tongue to please it like an orange ripe with juice, like an ace against a deuce, like a river to a moose, like the time I kissed your lips, like the time you spread your hips, like the gate through which time slips into eternity’s smile, into paradise a while while karma deletes your file from the server of the damned, from the chaos of the slammed, from the ram and ewe just lambed giving birth to a new day, making you light when you weigh the odds of the color gray turning velvety and gilt, gold intentionally spilt across the landscape that we built.

The focus of the present is to share this moment of mystery with someone, your traveling companion and guide to good manners, perhaps, on this strange journey into the vastness of tomorrow and the day after the day after that, the days lining up like birds on a wire preparing to fly away one by one as you trace their flight paths across the horizons of their inevitable migrations to lands unknown, to places barely born and yet eternally old, which is why you must not let trivialities come between you and the prize lurking in the here and now, the gold nugget of love already in your pocket.

The swallows, martins, gulls, and chirping wrens pay little mind to me along the shore where Kaniatarowanenneh bends around the elbow of the island, more like morning, scented with the after-rain, than later when the sun begins to bake the air, and future memories complain that time is always lurking and will take the sunrise and the morning on its way to afternoon and evening getting dark, the long night to have the final say, to pluck with death the song out of the lark, and yet again we trust another morning will come when Alouette sings its warning.

A saffron blackberry sunrise above the ungainly sweet potato shaped lump of land set down to divide the flow of Kaniatarowanenneh on its way to the great sea. There's something different in the air this morning, a turning point, not the finish line but the thought of a new world and this one changing, changing, no turning back, everything the same but new. The river, the birds, the beaver — all seem tuned in to this change, this change to what remains the same. The river is eddying, the birds are gliding and swinging in higher arcs than before. I see the beaver lift its head above the surface to look at me and then to dive again to the secret places there along the shore, using its tail to tell me a secret tale.

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1. Keeping Still, Mountain My heart like a mountain in the rain Like yesterday's rainfall I listened to the news As I drove to the sunrise Awakened by a rush of blood My dreams reminded me of love 2. Influence (Wooing) Like a calm lake in the mountains My mind reflects the rising sun Recalls the breakthrough of light As the memory of rain Awakens feelings of joy A lingering dream's sensation

Gongoozling along Little Venice's canals, I came upon a heron loitering for its breakfast in the grey overcast dawn. The heron eyed me, then took flight. There was the suggestion of a sunrise behind the broken blinds of the old sky. I carried an umbrella. My beloved lay sleeping back at her father's cousin's house. What are we doing here? I asked myself as the need for coffee began to press. I returned and turned the key in one lock and the other, opened the door and found my way to the quiet kitchen, the household not yet risen, discovered light switches and a coffee maker with pods. I fumbled with the device until I bent it to my will.