Golden Hour

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A crackling bonfire,

devotes all of its passion

to what its given,

until it’s reduced to glowing cinders.

You can’t help but look

on those ruby embers,

and wonder if you’re playing God

by letting your cup runneth over them

before you go to bed.

You brought them into this world

and now you’re taking them out

while they still have so much light left.

Does the Sun feel guilty,

in the slightest,

for leaving you in the dark

every night?

You can’t help but ask,

“am I the smoke, or am I the ash?”

It dawns on you, then,

while waiting for the sunset

that you never see “the end.”

That you’re not spent

day-after-day,

week-after-week.

While waiting for the next “good morning”

you’re thankful that the sun,

cares enough

to give you time and space

to rest.


Sun Spots

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Life-giving radiance

more than intense enough

to destroy all

that leans in close.

The seared paint

and armor plates will

shield us

but not for too long.

We are stuck inside

the worst piñata ever.

Flares breach the surface,

crashing back

to bask on brilliant light.

The surface crackles,

dappled like the starry nights

it vanquishes.

And even the Sun

couldn’t keep the heat

all the way up —

certainly not forever.

We don’t have long

to admire

what we plainly see.

That’s why we get out there.


Hello, Sunshine!

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I sigh,

From where I lie,

Chin held high,

While my eyes imbibe,

The flowing sky,

And all is right.

It’s an unusually bright,

Afternoon,

Already.

Leaves of grass,

Are weaved,

Underneath,

My back-

My hair and clothing,

Have dandelion seeds,

Clinging to them.

“The garden returns,

The flowers bloom, the weeds rise,

All from the sun’s rays.”

I sit up,

And feel the light,

Caress my face,

Hit my hair,

Warm my shoulders.

“Hello, Sunshine!

I’m glad you’ve stopped by,

Thanks for everything.”