from the bed

i can see the light,

reaching though the

break in the curtains,

toward the other side

of the room.

three beams,

split into six

as the light bends

at the edge.

following the light

as far as i can see,

i wonder where it stops.

i know the answer, yet

i think about it

longer than i care to admit.

rolling over, i look

at the other curtains.

they’re drawn much

tighter, but

there’s one hole through

which the lights attacks

the darkness.

the hole,

burned in long ago

by a careless cigarette,

or perhaps,

some voracious moth,

is perfectly round,

and the light coming through it

looks like

a laser beam.

it shoots just above

my legs,

hitting the shimmering

rose on the opposite wall.

it has no hope

of getting through that wall,

and i whisper those words

to no one but

the light.

as if it

heard me,

the light suddenly disappeared.

but i know the light

is deaf.

it was the wind

that heard me.