The Shadow

I have a light within that I've somehow curtained, put something in its way. I cast a shadow across everything. It is no defect of the eye but of the spirit, a flaw I have in me, a dimming I pass on to settle the scene and rob color of its intensity. I've gotten used to the dull glaze I bring that now it appears the natural state of things. Even water speared by the sun bleeds a muted sheen, no bright splinters of light ricochet off to be caught by eyes having to hide behind a squint, I can take my reflections straight. There are moments when I can feel a tightening and something within me stretch and tear the stitching on a seam. Light pours out and affixes a patch of life in a blinding beam, too bright to hold or keep except for the afterglow it leaves on a page or lingering for awhile on the horizons of a dream.