Low ceiling presses inward
Pushing sky out of the window
Once glamorous now so distant
Image of an image of hope.
A glimpse of the present
From the past, as if the clouds had parted
To reveal breaking sunrays
Light the path tucked out of sight
Maybe they are the path
Of anticipation, tingles in the soles.
Legs are leaden
Forgetting flow of motion
As they cry out anticipating
Release of molecular bonds
Dictated by science, that inevitable calling
Infinite existence in one line
Failing to cage space
And time, the mistress one step ahead
Always too much or too little
The final curtain turns
Bones to ash.
Lift it up
What is outside the window
Is there. Seen then, seen now
Not with the midnight lamp
But with the gleam
With the spark
in your eyes.