Light Bends

Light bends through the afternoon window, and the coffee cup becomes a small constellation— handle casting shadows like a question mark.

I watch the sun move across my desk, turning ordinary objects into proof that time is always moving, always changing us without asking permission.

The lamp cord coils like a snake in winter sleep, patient. Everything patient here— the dust suspended in gold rays, the silence holding its breath between seconds.

By evening, the same room is unrecognizable. What was illuminated is now hidden. What was clear dissolves into shapes I have to imagine into being.