A sleepy-eyed, soft cornered state of consciousness exists
before my brain synchronizes with my body’s motor functions,
before my eyes lose the filmy residual images of the distant places inside my head.
It seems so innocent, naïve even, this state,
lit dimly and incongruently by speckles and shafts through shuttered windows.

I love the way light behaves here;
the way it bounces off objects in interesting angles,
or diffuses gradually,
or hunts for hidden corners.
I love the way it highlights the peaks in sheets, but also emanates through them.
Or the way it rolls over arms and elbows,
cheeks and noses,
but leaves other areas steeped in dark shadows.