Frozen morning’s bedside lamp an intrusive klieg light slicing away sleep’s velvety privacy. Cold air rushing in through the window frame, shiver of snow outside. Blurred plume of car exhaust toreadors up in a lazy nebula spotlit underneath the alley streetlamp, drifts like tangled strands of hair into the thorny crocheted lace of bare trees.
Late afternoon light’s lazy drizzle palely honeycombing in. Sticky glitter braising the cat’s fur, sallow yellow striping floorboards, brush of shimmery butter basted on the bookcase.
Tungsten’s photons brightening in winter’s early fade-out; gas flame’s blue fandango; Coltrane’s sax a hot gilded bird tracing radiant orbitals.
The cool glow of this screen. These words burnished pennies refracted into an inverted beam and slide-projected onto the lens behind your retina: electric filament glittering along the optic nerve, sizzling upward where the light of your mind will coppersmith them into jingle and shine.
See how the reflected wedges of rapidly-dimming windows kiss the handblown glass into some kind of quiet incandescence?