Reset Forty-Eight, Day Five

[rejectomorph]

Saturday I got my afternoon sunlight nap. I've usually had trouble sleeping in bright light, but this seems to be different. My back is to the window, the sun warming it, and it feels a bit like lying on a beach on a lost summer afternoon, time snagged on a slow-drifting cloud, calm subduing the breakers on the sand. I only get a few more weeks of this and then the afternoon sun will be too high in the sky to get under the eaves. Already the inner edge of the bed is in shadow most of the afternoon.

But Saturday the sun was a bit hazy, due to some lingering overcast. Today it ought to be bright, and it should be warm. I hope my sleep schedule works out so I'm ready for a nap, and I remember to do it. This brief warm spell will be a nice break in the winter, which will be back later this week. Next Thursday might even bring a bit more very welcome snow to the mountains. Not everything this year is horrifying. For now at least. Knock on wood and hope it doesn't burn.




Sunday Verse

Visible World

by Richard Siken


Sunlight pouring across your skin, your shadow
flat on the wall.
The dawn was breaking the bones of your heart like twigs.
You had not expected this,
the bedroom gone white, the astronomical light
pummeling you in a stream of fists.
You raised your hand to your face as if
to hide it, the pink fingers gone gold as the light
streamed straight to the bone,
as if you were the small room closed in glass
with every speck of dust illuminated.
The light is no mystery,
the mystery is that there is something to keep the light
from passing through.