Amid Night

sounds of presence,

sounds of rain

breaking the ache

of surplus fever

by combing fields, 

kissing pavement,

shaking window sills.

It’s enough to know you’re

supposed to be awake,

supposed to appear before

the halftone darkness with

all its lives, all its secrets.

If you were taught God’s

fingerprint only appears in 

the warm precision of sunlight,

and you never once questioned

this, then roll over. Go back

to sleep. Birds will sing you back

in the morning with sunrise clouds

and psalmed calmness. 

And you are loved in this.

But past sunset, another journey

of awareness lifts the curtain

on all that you cannot see, 

cannot comprehend, as water

shivers through mineral gutters.

That’s when you come face 

to face with the wild beast

of resurrection telling you

that once again all this is life.

And you are loved in this too.