The sun is a forerunner of itself. Picture a black road very early, Desert mountains to the east, No trees. As the sun rises, Blacking then blazoning The dry slopes, it also Walks the road to you.   Truth like a canopy shelters truth, Illusions of combat among the greenflies. There is no sky. There is only the sun And the sun’s sharp progress Through the God-forsaken, which is sunlight too. I hear voices underneath the road. Whichever way I go was once an ocean.