Through Glass, Darkly
Webb-work, nightwork
gathering light long loosed
thirteen billion years late, held in dark
dust nursed,
dark pillared,
a thumbprint on the void
opens: black braced with bright,
cloud-wombs and star birth,
the deep field blooming
beyond all reckoning —
a field of farfires
fierce and flung.
Fiber-web threaded through ocean dark,
signal shuttled shore to shore
voices riding glass under weight of water —
deeper still where pressure
holds no word for surface,
vents breathe heat into black
creatures cold-fire their own day
conjure small signals,
channel abyssal wonder,
and we who laid cordage lean in —
screen scrying fathomless depths,
watching!
Wand weaving, searching
across the belly’s curve,
the screen’s grey weather
parting to show a thumb,
the systole and diastole
of a heart, plum-blossom-small —
the mystery the flesh held
without knowing it held,
suddenly revealed and still hidden,
still needing weeks of dark,
still needing to arrive,
to fall, to have the wound cleaned.
The long lean of love
carrying, staying,
wondering.
Through glass, still —
held.
