Inclining To Congregate, Perhaps Elsewhere

In early hours, light hums through the windowpanes
To clarify, ordering table, lamp, chair,
Distinguishing dust that ambles toward them, grains
In their delicacy remote, scarcely there,
Leaving unknowable what distance remains
Until the scintillas pivoting midair
Rest, or else are translated. Soon, light shifts planes,
Dust fades, a few beams slant through the room like prayer.

Back Then, Across The Stream Bed

[removed at least temporarily while submitted for publication elsewhere]