Glare

Glare

It falls on the cobblestones like a stern teacher’s stare,
a white‑hot ribbon that slices the morning’s haze.
The shop fronts squint, their windows flashing back
in a chorus of reflected sighs, while pedestrians
pull their collars up, seeking refuge in the shade
of awnings that murmur against the relentless brilliance.

Even the river, usually a quiet mirror,
shivers under the glare, sending shards of light
that dance like fireflies caught in a sudden storm.

In this fierce illumination, details sharpen—
the crack in the pavement, the fleck of rust on a bike,
the faint line of worry etched upon a brow—
as if the world, stripped of its soft focus,
offers itself bare, daring us to see
both the beauty and the starkness
that lie hidden in everyday glare.