If you sit long enough in the dark
you can see it, see its texture, press your fingers just
in front of your eyes and feel it, the slight
give and spring of the dark, the
fur of the dark.
The churr and cricket-dense thicket of sound fills
your ears, pours into the drums.
You are underwater in the dark.
Close your eyes. Screw up your mouth like a child.
Don’t scream
just to hear the glub
of your own trapped voice
the rough fist of night thrust down your throat.
Again you’ve confused God with the dark.
One is nowhere. The other wraps around your throat
like vines. We forget
which is which. Feel the dark again.
Press your fingertips against it
lay your palms flat on its breathing flank
press your face into its thick ribs
rub your thumbs against its skin.
It will not eat you nor
will it come close enough. It will not
answer. Don’t scream.
Listen to the crickets twitching inside your ears.
Watch the dark.
If you watch long enough without blinking
your eyes will fool you and it will seem to move.
