I am a nebula of mist—
dulling mountains to shadows,
steeping memories in dew.
You, the perennial sun,
slice through my atmosphere
with clarities that sting.
Then it happens: your photons
collide with my particulates,
igniting Tyndall's revelation—
every atom of me becomes
a prismatic vector, spilling
this mortal coil's most exquisite
optical confession.