The Greatest Chandelier

Every morning I wake to the sound

of engineers clanging

and operators raising the crane.

People can’t see them,

for their orange safety vests

are invisible to the world.

Because the sun

is a giant, whirring machine.

It consists of billions of miniature bulbs,

flashing gold-white light

as the greatest chandelier imagined.

The workers, hired for this one purpose,

tirelessly lift the sphere,

the sphere essential to our existence;

its fragile sheen teetering

on the single point,

the black void,

the construction site.

Then when their work is done

they perch on the clouds

and pick at tuna sandwiches.

They watch the world rise,

and they watch the world wander

before they unhook the sun from its height,

and nobody knew they existed.