The golden hour

each day when the floor tilts -just so-
the light flows over ground
shadows splash up on the walls
their darkness running down

then we tilt a moment more
imperceptibly shift
until the gold is gone again
another day adrift

the death of daytime, gloriously
extinguishes the light
new shadows crowd over us now
beginnings of the night

and soon we'll greet the sun again
soon we will shine once more
the darkness passes, every night
sweeping across the floor

each time I wake it takes some time
eyes adjust to solar power
but I can last, for just a day,
longing for that golden hour.