When you left this room, or a room somewhat like it, stepping into the light you were dazzled by the sudden brilliance, only gradually coming to terms with it. Now, overwhelmed by the darkness, by the stillness, dazzled still by the light you learned to take for granted, (impossible in this quiet room to see what faces you) you ***** for a chair. The thought of turning back passes briefly through your mind, you refrain from opening the curtains, knowing, telling yourself, the moment will pass, the after-image fade, the echoes of outside be absorbed in the silence. Be still in the dark, listen to the silence, understand this room was waiting for you.
This poem started with the title, and more or less wrote itself from then on. For a long time I didn't even realise myself that it was about death, though it seems pretty obvious now