See: the first line

The afternoon sun.
I want to write about
the afternoon sun.
It's pouring liquid warm
onto the dog,
almost making it
across the room
to me.
This afternoon sun
has had to pass the snowy ridgeline.
It probably does not get colder
due to that proximity.
I get hotter, though. 
The sun's hands 
shake mine more firmly
when the blue
and white 
and pine green
stand
and deliver sweet white yellow spread
upon the pillows upon the couch
through a window streaked 
by toddler hands
large enough to revel 
in the slowly melting scene.