It's Still Life

The Architecture of a Moment

In Its Quiet Occupation

The window latch gives way,
a tired click,
and just like that
the day begins to spill its sunlit gold across the sill,
not in request,
but in quiet occupation.

Then the radio hums,
a singer’s plea:
can you read my mind?
A breeze, the conspirator,
stirs the embers of the beech,
a rush of rebellious colour
answering a question no one asked.

And here I am,
inside the glass,
watching the world
make its silent entrance
into me.

Written for Writers’ Digest Poem-a-Day Challenge. The prompt word is Entrance. Poems/prose and some images are ©Misky 2006-2025.