gold spills low
across the tide
where sea foam
catches the dying light
and turns to liquid embers

the sky
a canvas stretched thin
between twilight blue
and burning orange
brushed with wild
feathered clouds

at the edge of the world
the ocean lifts the sun
from its sleeping horizon
in a soft rushing whisper

it’s as if the morning itself
cannot help but remind
me of you
because everything beautiful
always does