Breaking Through

Before the sun splits the gray, there's a holding— the world suspended between forgetting and remembering.

A crack opens in the clouds, light pours through like honey, slow and inevitable, and the fog remembers it was never solid.

Everything gilded now, temporary, the wet grass catches fire, the old fence posts glow as if they were always meant for this.

We stand in it— this narrow window of clarity— knowing it will pass, that clouds will gather again, and still we lift our faces upward.