Dimming the speed of light
till it shivers, one treacherous step
at a time in the darkness
little toes straining
to feel out the black-mouthed holes
before they swallow:
the prodigal’s dawn comes slowly.
There is no map for God-drawn heart-lines.
Is it faith if you’re still trying
to make shapes out of midnight?
The blind man didn’t forfeit color
in the name of contented trust.
Is it faith if it’s thrust upon you?
I would ask, but my words are a shot in the dark.
The little worlds of a billion minds
whirl in neurotic orbit
crash in elliptical roads
and in this grand humane cacophony
I barely hear you say
Just be still.
I need to dance in white-hot tails
of streaking flame
I need to sprint through the cosmic labyrinth
and find you.
The speed of light can only take me so fast
but I’ve decided anything is better
than the utter stillness of dark.