And there was evening and there was morning: the first day

There's a light that falls on the Museum of Natural History at 7am on a Sunday morning. There's a light that falls between the iced and the frozen, hinting at seasons. There's a man walking a doberman who catches me in reverie and asks for the time. He tells me to have a nice day.

Whisper inward.

There's a light that falls when you let the doubting dim. There's a light that falls between the questions and the silence, hinting at the fact that it might not just be you. There's a man who catches me in reverie and asks me for a glimpse.

And I am bare.