Spent Breath

The extinguished bulb exhales a sigh of glass.
Its breath sews abandoned dreams upon night’s edge.
Each breath is a thread that shines again with absences.
The room retains the shadow and lets in small lights of memory.
When the last sigh falls silent, dreams find a way.
They do not ignite at once, they slip through cracks and breaths.
The margin becomes a bridge, the dark learns to sing new dawns.
And the room remains ready, to chase the light that still sleeps.