SUNLIGHT
— Poetry — 1 min read
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
sun-scarred windows
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.