Light

When the sun rises,
We are reminded:
Dark is nothing more
Than the absence of light.

The Dark Matter
Of what we cannot comprehend
Is nothing more than empty space
Into which our understanding spills.

Lean and loafe at your ease,
But do not observe the spear of summer grass
But the light which calls it from
The cold, dark soil.

Can darkness raise the dead?
The Emperor of Ice Cream
Preserves only what was
And waits for warmth to make it is.

The sun sets, and the moon reminds
Us: Reflect the glory of that which calls the grass to grow
Up from this lump of clay,
That wakes the sleeping dead.

The stars fill the void with the same glory,
Teaching that the light we understand
In our little cosmos,
Shines, too, in universes unconceivable.

When we look to Heaven, we see first light
And say, "Aha! There it is."
When we point our eyes into the blackness,
Light, there too, appears.

There is no better metaphor for God
Than this light
That rips through the dark synapses of me
And raises consciousness of you,

That warms this skin
With light from grass
And passes between us
In warm embrace.

Let us stay here a little while,
In the light we feel
Upon our faces,
Inside our beating chests,

Deep in the darkest corners of our empty minds,
Where, too, life is raised
From the shock of the Living God
Upon sleeping flesh.