When the
early morning sun makes squares of yellow on the dormer wall
with window grille outlines like Mondrian compositions.
When shafts
of gold appear across the room casting dark silhouettes
of lamp shades and paintings.
When streams
of saffron flow across door frames, book cases,
and the wooden floor.
The night
hours end and dreams disconnect in sudden storms of light
that end a nightmare’s racing heart.
The promise of
a gilded day calls out like a siren’s song
to an untethered mind.
The first
step into the molten glow inflames an awkward stance
and feels like a Midas touch.
Then the sun
dial begins its sweep of rooms from east to west
and bathes hidden spaces with radiant light.
Then the
shadows declare pursuit, stretch out beyond
their normal reach, and wreck in shallow
waves.
Then the golden
touch falters leaving each book without a word
and each frame without a
painting.
©cmheuer, April, 2019
