This did not happen today.
Today, Radiance is not a poem. Today, Radiance is warm tones: orange leaves feathering a Pointillist path, gold showers from hoary oak boughs, her eyes silver, copper, shining autumn brass. Today Radiance is sun-drenched white marble on a bed of earthy brown, mingling with rain-scent and honey and dried wild roses, warm mountain ranges curving up and down her spine, red-gold hair pooling like slow-dripping amber across my page.