Where Light Breaks Through

The dust suspended in afternoon gold— each mote a world turning, a universe of forgetting made visible.

I watch the beam cut through the window, carving distance into something tangible, and the air becomes architecture.

Outside, the city rebuilds itself in shadows. Inside, I breathe the light, taste its mineral brightness on my tongue.

Nothing stays. The beam shifts. The dust settles. The rooms return to their ordinary darkness.

But for a moment—that precise geometry of what was hidden, what was always there, burning its way into seeing.