Sundust

Certain slants of light remind me of epiphany
my Mother with a crumpled Kleenex in the passenger's seat,
lifting and shaking it out in a puff of golden,
sun-caught dust. I sat in strapped
compliance behind, transported
by the glinting fairy cloud, each fleck
an airy and impossible thing,
floating down,
slowly descending.
I had seen this before,
the flaming dust,
magic.