As We Turn Toward the Light

As we turn toward the light

dreams drift away.

Mothers and fathers

so vivid in voice and gesture

return to the shadows.

As we turn toward the light

our senses awaken

to sleep-scented sheets.

Dawn slides from charcoal

to mauve to lilac.

As we turn toward the light,

clouds blush.

Our fingers curl, anticipate,

regret.

Branches etch an eggshell sky.

The square space encloses.

As we turn toward the light,

vision narrows to a point.

The wide, fulsome dark

of dreams and possibilities

retreats.

The hourglass flips.

This is What You See

NGXUvgUbQ6uG6FXpkbG5eA

 

By starlight, they fall asleep holding hands.

By moonlight, he frees one firefly caught between the glass door and the screen.

By lamplight, she reads while he holds her feet and asks, “What’s a four letter word for mixture?”

By candlelight, they heat water for washing on the gas stove.

By sunlight, they walk around the pond and stop to watch four goslings dozing.

By a red light, he says, “All clear on the right.”

By flashlight, she finds the missing puzzle piece under the couch.

By starlight, they fall asleep holding hands.

 

K.E.