Summer morning. Recrossing the borderline from the afterlife, the dreamer is expelled from sleep, the dream lost. I am a dream’s shadow, heavy with transition, jagged from sleep. Light gathers me from every room I have ever slept in onto the shrinking island of the bed.
Someone cues the poetry. Unquiet lines. The past was worse than you thought, voices say. Your life is a weighted skin. Stop swimming against the tide of loss. Sink.
Yet gloom is porous. From the sky’s cracked mosaic, Daybreak seeps in. The light reassembles familiar objects, which replace mere longing in ordinary darkness.
The things of the world resist but return to radiance, resume the work of existing. We are all day laborers. It's my shift. Summon the coffee. The world yawns before me. And I am, therefore (I think).