Open the closed drapes.
Wipe the dusty windows.
Welcome light even if pale and faint.
There will be days
when there will be no gleaming
and you will hide from the black.

Open the slanted blinds.
Let sun throw particles of light
on carpets and floor, pictures on wall.
Walk through its streaming waterfall,
wash skin, bones, networks of cells;
nerves attuned, pricked, aroused.
Hold a tendril of light insinuating itself
through cracks around the door frame.

Turn the knob, walk into the light,
put brightness in your pockets,
comb it through your hair,
wrap it around your body;
it might be the last you will see.
Let your eyes be dazzled,
absorb the sun now that it is here.