Sunlight is often too shy a friend.
I only bump into her when I’m about to run
inside a brick building, late for a meeting.
Maybe she’s just avoiding me.
I sprint through the lobby catching
flashes of her majesty
like heaven’s strobe-light.
She wears a crown of copper.
No better than the penny I wish
I could defenestrate.
Passersby mimic these
with their melancholy
melanoma like iridescent jewelry,
as if proud of the sun’s unnecessary
and unexpected gift this morning.
They flaunt affection but I finally
see the sun after sixty stories of stairs.
This is my friendship.
This is my unexpected gift.