Maybe the sun is a coin
In the palm of some careless god.
Something he holds
Without realizing
Something he feels the texture of
For comfort
When the cosmos
Presses in.

Maybe the sun is a coin
Never spent because it
Burns holes in pockets-
Maybe we stand on a great blue marble beside it
Watching it slip away
So much loose change
Rattling around
Waiting to be bartered.

Maybe the sun is a coin
On the tongue of someone who should have been
Our father.
Maybe
Having been saved for so long
Hot and shiny as a penny
It pays his way across the River

And maybe we remain
Smooth and blue and lost
Having fallen through a tear in the lining of his coat.