The Sun oversteps the horizon,
traversing the imaginary boundary of winter’s dream.
the sky rises over the newly human Sun,
now an Adam,
sweating drops of honey and of light.
today he crosses the threshold of his golden house,
on the equatorial line,
the universe at an angle.
He is with us.
Be it that he has descended in the dawn,
but over us it snows,
though it is impossible to say whether with holy water
or with mottled balls of newspaper.