when I come into my room at night,
and it is so early in the morning that
no animal can see what it’s doing yet
so they sensibly wait for their world to light up-
glowing fingers to brush off the obscure dark matter
that everything in the universe wraps itself in.
So as I was saying- sorry, it is early-
that when I come into my room to rest in bed,
after the switch is flipped but before the room is lit,
there is a flicker and flash of pale blue light
that reveals the room then snatches it back.
It shoots glimpses of my own cozy bed
like lightning that foretold of an electricity,
or a mother’s hands toying with her baby’s eyes-
peek-a-boo with everything he knows and loves.
Her face reappears steadily and unchanged
while amidst the caressing of her palms
his imagination reaches inaccessible distances.
It happens during this clean white flashing
that my imagination anxiously jolts
and I envision scary, wild, and weird figures:
the shirt draped over the desk becomes a cat,
the lamp in the corner flashes into a stilly standing girl
not unlike the frightful girl from the film “The Ring”
or into a quaint, nice wife with glowing gold hair,
and sometimes you, early in the morning,
waiting in the flicker of the faint white light.