What the Sun Says at Dawn

You think I rise because the sky asks? No—I burn because I choose to. Watch how I gild the broken fences, how I enter every window uninvited, how I turn the puddle into a mirror before it remembers it’s supposed to evaporate. They call me constant, but I’m always changing: a slow explosion, a practiced rebellion, lighting the world like a match struck against the rough edge of the horizon. You too could be this relentless. You too could rise, not when they expect it, but when you decide the night has lasted long enough.