sun at eye level
walking into the morning,
I think back to lightbulbs
who get all the press
glowing attention away.
yet a field of seeded dandelions
blaze beaming through them
white on fire meet
stretched wing feathers
arch-gliding through my eye line,
then glow and jet to branch pedestal.
nature muses
as dead rocks in concrete flash
and wet tin barn roof sparkles,
no longer corroded.
hope bursts, and possibility whispers:
dull me could radiate,
fading me could shine,
tired me can beam,
walking into the morning
thankful for a Son at eye level.

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