The Motes Between

A window catches afternoon— dust rises like small stars, each particle a world spinning in the cathedral of gold.

We live in the invisible, breath to breath, heartbeat to hum, until something slants through glass and suddenly we are luminous, suddenly we matter.

The ordinary room blooms. Shadows deepen where light was. There is no difference between the seen and unseen, only the angle of arrival, only the willingness to shine.

Even now, unnamed things travel through your body— light bending around what you are, making you visible to eyes that have learned how to look.