The sun is coming in the window,
But the sun is not the window. But that’s
Not true. The window is another
Form of the sun. The aristocrats
Of thought will tell you so. Even
The Montgolfier brothers looked at cows.
It was sunny where they were, even when
The shadows covered the rows and plows.
If you want to feed an orphaned fawn,
Dribble milk on its lips. It will soon
Drink ravenously, and overhead,
Gold by the sun, a gondola balloon.
Yaacov David Shulman