Driving south on 99, that point when
you need a stretch, but you’re antsy
to get there, so you keep driving,

while out the passenger window
the photographer aims skyward
where the sun is extending

its beams with such exuberance
you keep sneaking peeks
out that west-facing window,

watching the clouds do-si-do
with that lava-orange ball
as it slides toward the horizon.

But it’s not until later when you
see the photo that you perceive
the godlight heart blazing

through the clouds that feels like
a wave from one who always signed
her cards “in love and light,”

even as she searched for both.
There she is, you think—with
all the beloveds—masquerading

as an everyday miracle
that you, speeding through life,
so often miss.