Hard Sun

More than once,
I’ve said a life lesson aloud,
spoken to no one,
and just as words fade,
the right song begins.

Not a whisper,
not a suggestion,
but a declaration—
timed down to the breath.

It transcends algorithms.
It laughs at code.

Because how else could the hard sun rise
just as doubts
burn brightest?
How else could a song
ramble on wind,
urging the next foot forward
in a sidestep parade?

It is not chance,
it cannot be.
There is power
in the shuffle,
a keeper of chords
and timing,
a conductor of melodies
and moments.

She waits,
needle poised,
and spins the record of our lives,
knowing exactly
when to let it play.