Prologue

Amber spills across the furniture,
blue stands guard in silk verticals.
The lamp glows like a thought that forgot its question,
and decided to rest.

Body I

Law one: Light only exists when noticed.
Law two: Shadows improvise in minor keys.
Law three: Silence has furniture — it’s called patience.

I sit unseen inside the spectrum,
watching the lamp invent time.
The chair blushes under attention,
curtains whisper stage directions to the air.
Everything hums almost evening, almost infinite.

Body II

The blue says to the gold:
“You hold too much memory.”
Gold laughs,
“I am made of yesterday.”

DADA Break

lum–room–bloom–zoom
shh–humm–plume

Closing

The light dims gently, like an afterthought.
The room forgets itself into peace.
Tomorrow, perhaps, the lamp will remember the sun.