Turning the Dark Bright

Sometimes late at night
When in bed alone,
I see my aching body moving in the dark,
Outline weighed against astounding darkness,
More massive than other Spirits in the room.
Turn and turn under sheets below the lonely Moon,
Watching more closely than distant constellated stars,
Unstable, blinking between the passing clouds.

I sense the struggle of dark forming
Against a greater darkness…
Downward turns among the forces inward,
Never run but I listen in the deafening gloom…
Sit upright or stand naked before the honest mirror
Standing independently upon the wall,
Pour out from heart whatever weight it bears….
Pause in silence to remember God,
Here and now, surrounding in unraveling absence,
Even in shadowed hallowed darkness…
Detect the massive questions hanging in the air,
Unanswered as I brush my hair,
Walk throughout the house, I know not where,
Look through closets or descending stair.

Sometimes I polish silver, remove tarnish
Accumulated from past airs,
Wait for spoons to reflect some silent twinkle,
Tilt in my bare hands the knives my mother gave,
Lying grave within the velvet chest, covered with a cloth,
Smothered by so many years of memories,
Now turned to decaying dust.

I love these arbitrary hours that rarely come to visit,
Spirits walking through the house at night….
Waking me, returning to turn the darkness
Bright with unanswered questions,
Waiting for the morning light.

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