Light Breaks Water

Light Breaks Water

Dark water waits, flat and cold,

its surface holding the weight of night.

Then the light comes,

not soft,

not gentle,

but sharp,

a blade that splits the black.

Ripples catch it first,

small shoulders of silver

rolling outwards,

breaking the stillness

like glass underfoot.

The shine spreads fast,

cutting through shadows,

no warning,

no care.

It’s day now,

whether the water wanted it or not.

And for a moment,

before the wind wakes,

before the world stirs,

light owns the water.

No questions,

no answers,

just the cold shine

breaking what was dark