The room is yellow, the air we breathe is gold
The light we see and cannot see is present

The yellow rays, tricky as they are
flicker and linger for minutes until they light somebody else’s room

Electricity from the hanging lines connect our building to the earth
as buzzing, beaming, cellophane wrapped watts light our stucco sky

The light our eyes can see is bright, blinding us in brevity
Illumination from the inside out, the light of our minds

Emitting rays from the dreamlands in our heads, so aware
light escaping out of our skin and our hair

Our minds light up the room with gold
Our minds flutter and grace the the pages and spaces below

The power lines could fall, the shades could be drawn
and still this room would consume, illuminate. The golden hour waits.