Sun-Kissed
A poem abouit the sun and other things
Sun-Kissed
You paint skin golden with youth
Coppertone tans that shimmer and blister
Of innocence
You drip on brows, beads of grime
Laboring spines, hands rough
With callus and salt
You peel leathered limbs, rust-stained
Crackling bones, whitewashed
By well-aged regret
But mostly you shine on Earth
Pumping pulse through sea, through vein
Raking time across desert sands
With rays of cosmic indifference
Still, I lift my face toward you
And, I bless your burning gift.
©2026 Kim Williams, M.Div
The sun does not care about our moisturizers, our theology, or our little plans to age gracefully. It just keeps blessing and burning like a silent monk with terrible boundaries. This is gorgeous. Tender, brutal, and somehow still grateful. Blessed are the ones who can lift their face toward the fire and not call it punishment.
The sun landing on working hands, not just pretty skin... It made the warmth turn sharp for me, like... oh, there’s the cost too...