The rising sun is a ball
That the Forest God picks up
In his hand and flings, laughing,
Into the sky, so he can watch it
Rise and fall. It is a golden-haired goddess
Whose warm breasts he worships,
A wild red-maned god whose upright phallus
He adores. The sun is the heart
Of the Forest God himself, travelling
The world while he sits under the tree
At the center of the world, waiting
For his heart to come home.
A Nest Made of Words 