the new sunshine

they are all here
waiting to be seated
like patient lambs
and in walks this
little irish number
with auburn curls
that go on
until december
and i rise
like the tides
on a good day
and greet
the new sunshine
with burning eyes
and hands
and the flock
scatters, hearing
the sirens
and bombs
of hormones
now belated
and the voice of
the sunshine (still new)
sings my ears
to bed, as i
blindly search
across the face
of the sun
for a smile to
brighten this wake
but i have forgotten
that statues are silent
and im only alone
with my mind
in a room
with chairs
and a table
and a tinny old radio
playing o danny boy
in time to my
beating heart
as i search for
scattered sunshine
in the growing cracks
of the walls