The four corners of the wind cry out
that they will never be contained, not as long
as the cheerful globe keeps turning
on its subtly shifting axis,
and the stars go on spreading, dice
cast in the septillions
into the dark that until recently
scared me terribly,
but I must have gotten over it sometime
during that last breakdown.
Before his public ministry, Jesus went into
the desert, where the wily accuser
tempted him in just the way to confuse a savior:
All this I will give you. It must have been really dark
out there, dark as Hell, and Jesus must have been
tired of it all, sick and tired.
No wonder the ministering angels showed up.
The air holds a little light in suspension.
The roseate sky comes into sight just enough
to tilt into another day, just enough,
and when it’s over, if
we make it that far, the dark
will creep up again, from legs to shoulders and head.
I’ll lean into the savior’s lesson—the dark
will do no permanent harm,
and after long enough becomes
its own kind of solace.
