We grow distant
From the sun.
We turn away.

Yet at this angle
The light
Is so intimate

Illuminating ​
Every curve, fold,
Wrinkle, vein,

Every impression of time--
Elongating shadow​s,
Leaving every fact of our lives
Lit up.

The earth is littered with such facts;
I walk on them
With a heavy footfall.

Still, the sun on my face
Claims and names me
Like any one of these leaves.

Distance, the sun says,
Is an illusion.
And it is temporary.