Bottled Sun

On the curb, among the crushed cans,

lay a bottle, thick and round.

Not clear, but the deep, warm tone

of something rich and profound.

The afternoon light, sharp and low,

caught its curved, empty side.

Dust motes danced, a tiny show,

where old sunbeams used to hide.

It glowed, a precious, heavy thing,

a jewel someone threw away.

And for a second, it did bring

the memory of a brighter day.