the sun, in harsh stroke,
cuts a sharp line,
breaking the dawn leached wall.
your hand, caught in this sudden brilliance
throws stark contrast to the darkness,
resting quietly over your sleeping form.
motes of dust rise, hang, and then fall,
pirouetting on invisible breeze, and
occasionally catching the light
so that for a moment,
it seems as if you are holding
ephemeral pieces of
the very sun itself.