It’s 10.
AM or PM?
Who knows.
The lacking presence of light makes telling time tough.
I wake uncertain.
Both cats breathe in sync with the beat
of slumber and air purifiers lulling me.
It’s claustrophobic.
Each breath takes up the living space and shrinks
eight hundred
square feet
to none.
Cold feet shuffle mindlessly on clammy floors,
echoing hints of a longing.
Longing for light beams through windows.
Morning dew.
A draft.
A breath.
Anything with air.
And when I wake again from this restless dream,
I wish for nothing more
then to leave the light on.