incited by a tercet quatrain form my friend Thom invented, I "found" this poem:
Light. Glowing yellow.
- found at the start of Eva Figes's novella titled Waking
It spills into the room of wavering
shadows and forms a pool on the floor. The pool
of melted butter oozes across the floorboards
as a soft gust of air slowly lifts
the cloth hung over the window;
luminous now, it bulges inward
with the motion of a half-filled sail.
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