Shifting Light - Poem

 Shifting Light

by Izabella Ourin

The morning spills in—

not all at once,

but like a whisper

learning to speak.

Golden dust floats

on yesterday’s silence,

drawing soft maps

across the wooden floor.

Shadows retreat,

then gather again,

as clouds stir the sky

like a restless dream.

The world tilts gently—

sunlight bends,

becoming something

not yet named.

A face in the mirror

catches fire,

not from flame

but from remembering.

Each hour—

a brushstroke of brightness

then shade,

as if time is painting

with both hands.

Evening sighs

into the walls,

and the shifting light

becomes a lul

laby

only the heart

knows how to hum.