clouded suns are still suns

Heather, this is for you, on our anniversary. I love you.
--Troy


Clouded Suns Are Still Suns
by Troy Cady

I’ll gladly exchange
all future certainties
for you.

Forgive me:
my days and nights
have been mixed up
(lately)
and the weather
I can’t predict
(nor even report) accurately.

I know not whether
this is a new (dim) morning
or if it is gray evening,
or, somehow, both.

I do know
the stars have been muddy
these weeks
but I still look up
because of you.

I do know
you lifted
the numb, permanent sigh
this afternoon.
(I think it was afternoon)

You massaged
my swamped heart
during this strange time,
(that feels like)
the hours
between the morning’s work
and the evening’s regrets,
this gap.

I do know
you have been smiling in the fog
and laughing, sweating,
pushing (and cursing)
this boulder
with me.
I’m glad we cuss together now.

I do know that
we said
moving the rock was beyond us
but we worked towards
the impossible (anyway)
in the storm,
eyeing the clouds,
believing
there’s another side
(together),
believing
the rain has loosened our labor,
that goodness endures
in the mi(d)st of adversity.

(Remember: Clouded suns are still suns.)
We haven’t seen the stars
lately
but I can smile
because
we don’t need to go anywhere
(right)
now.
I guess what I want to say is:
I’m happy to
go wrong
with you
because Grace
doesn’t always feel right.

What I am writing to you
on this (our special) day
is far from sentimental,
I know,
but unvarnished joy
is still joy,
and being here with you
in the rain
is my way of hoping again,
like those (college) days
when we were new,
(ignorant) friends.

So
(this time
with a tearful eye)
I’ll say it yet once more:
I’m happy
all over again
to exchange
all future certainties
for you.

More than your devotion to me,
this is my devotion to you,
and I hope this time around
you catch me laughing on the inside, too.
Again.