Basking
by Martha Postlethwaite

The moon, some say,
has such pull
that the oceans
can’t resist.
But on this late autumn day,
it is the sun
that draws me
across the room.

I leave my desk
and its pile
and go.
All morning I sit
in the panel of light
that falls
on the far end
of my sofa.

My sole purpose
is to absorb
light and warmth
as it runs over my head
and down my neck
like warm almond oil, leaving no stain.