Sleepless Room

In my dark, sleepless room, strong light has begun to flow
through a narrow channel, which has begun to breathe life again,
slowly, in my surrender.
The words of the Spanish song were lost outside of me
in that former place, and space,
but now they flow freely through me,
carried on the tide of a warm light,
the rhythm of a drum beat gently knocking at the door of my stony heart,
where a child sat hidden in a grey room.
I can hear that it's started to rain,
soft shimmering waves against the window.

The ceiling I stare at is no longer artexed but frescoed,
as my imagination's own designs begin to uncover themselves.
Like sand shifting,
time moving, revealing bit by bit a pattern engrained in a sacred space,
lost to a world and rediscovered in my universe.
I can see her now, strongly outlined, centred in this pulsating wonder,
Gloriously attuned to her surrounding home.
Woman-child, now alive,
her face aglow as she conceives a new vista before her.
And through a beaded door she reaches through to meet his hand,
Which has become strongly outlined besides her own.