The canvas of twilight sky
ripens into a supreme backdrop
for the show-offy sun

shooting searchlight beams
through clouds hovering
just above the horizon,

sending angular streaks
of bright orange the color
of fresh lava to create

an ephemeral sky show.
The photographer and I
have long called this

godlight, as if painted by
the hand of a celestial being
him/her/theirself

picking up the brush,
dabbing here and there
like the old master

he/she/they is/are,
then sitting back with
a satisfied smile as we

earthbound mortals
applaud the end-of-day
masterpiece, calling

hana hou! —
again! encore! —
as the crepuscular rays

dissolve into the
enfolding night.