Speed Of Light

Slow light shuffle

In the dim dusk of early morning, I wait
To see if there will be a crack of light,
Creeping slowly round the edges of the door frame
Like a halo hanging lightly on the old scratched wood.

If they come, the tiny pinpricks, photons and particles,
That slip and slide across the wood and through the cracks
To dance and play, reflecting on the whitewashed walls,
If they come, today will be a day for singing in the street.

For running through puddles looking for rainbows
And twirling like dervishes under cherry blossom trees.

I lie still, not moving, downy covers pulled to chin
And wait to see if the light will creep
And shuffle and illuminate the patina and knolls
Of my old oak door. If light will illuminate me.