I greet you warm brightness,

you white light of day,

we recited Blaumanis' poem

in grade school in Latvia.

I greet you, oh sun, oh sun!

no cloud hid you in envy

no wet mist of autumn.


I feel the old pagan roots,

remember the grey slush

on Riga streets on my first

return, still Soviet drab.


Here in Ithaca, we're starved

for sun too. In February

grey overcomes, while

the reborn defend marriage,

wars go on and spread,

species disappear.


It was death that spread

its blueblack blanket

between you and me


Mv ancestors notion of

rebirth was not Christian -

when the Knights dragged them

to baptism, they ran to the

river to wash it off, but the sun

was a great goddess.


The sun is out, I yell,

it's out, reborn for the day

in my own way.



Inta Ezergaile


Inta's Poems