Walking to work, I walk toward sun,

Not symbolically but daily so,

And every day of the week but one.

I come dazzled to what I must do.

I cannot get sun out of my eyes

That stares from the northeast view.

My students shine too, they show

Ancestral cheekbones, under their names

Writing what they know they know.

Six days of the week I walk

East to tell beginners how to begin.

On a seventh day I write, not talk.

I write with my back to the sun,

My own shadow shielding my page.

Darkening what I have hardly done.