Sunlight on the Edge
The moment before everything shifts
The morning waits
a breath held soft between moments
edges trembling like a sigh before it falls
Light slips in slow and deliberate
a gentle stroke along the skin of the day
lifting something unseen into the still room
It rests there suspended
a hint of gold tracing the silence
where shadows hold their breath
and everything feels both heavy and light
as if the world tilts toward a secret
it almost dares to speak
Colors gather quietly
folding over themselves in slow unfolding
each shimmer a pulse beneath the calm
The air becomes a stillness wrapped in warmth
a silent promise of something shifting
soft as a thought forming at the edge of sleep
In this fleeting space
time loosens its grip and steps aside
inviting the heart to catch the pulse beneath the calm
a gentle stirring without sound
like a glance exchanged between moments
brief and luminous then gone
It is summer’s breath touching skin
an unseen clarity blooming quietly
a tremor of something waiting
just beyond the reach of speech
And in the stillness the surface catches light
revealing a new shape
drawn from the depths of calm
About the Creator
Tim Carmichael
Tim is an Appalachian poet and cookbook author. He writes about rural life, family, and the places he grew up around. His poetry and essays have appeared in Bloodroot and Coal Dust, his latest book.
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Comments (2)
Exceptionally-written and divine!🌸
I feel the light upon waters A joy of rediscovering something lost