The Cartography of Half-Light

Morning arrives not all at once but in increments of amber— a hand drawn slowly across the horizon, fingers uncurling to release the day.

I exist in this threshold, neither sleeping nor awake, watching the world shift colors like a photograph developing in reverse.

The walls hold their breath. Even the birds wait for permission to remember what their bodies were built to do.

In this half-light, everything glows with the luminescence of becoming— the threshold a chrysalis, and time the only witness.