The Universe is Unraveling

The waves of death compassed me

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I saw a bright light at the end of the tunnel—

The tunnel is more than a pipe in the ground,

creeping under wizened roots and interstate paint

and the grass Joseph steamrolls on balmy Saturdays.

The light winking at the end of it is not a casual

department store light bulb or the jellyfish ooze

of a lava lamp. Is not as simple as the sun

or as distant as fragments of star. I’ve heard it told

many ways. Some approach the light

like skydivers, bombing toward the king of bright

and crown of suns, eyes stretched wide as the planets

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and stars streak like paint, brushing over the canvas

of the universe. Others hike upward, using constellations

for walking sticks, wiping dark matter off their brows

as they work off the gloom and aim for the

center. For those with ears to hear, the light is pulsing

with the musica universalis, nimble music of the spheres,

a portal to emotional wealth and mental prowess. Some

say the dark is blotted like ink, a well spilling

onto the snow-white page of infinite healing and power.

It could be the center of the universe, God’s heart,

and we shoot like cells toward the source of life,

riding the purple strand of God’s own DNA.

She said she was a fleck of dust, called upward

to the absence of darkness. He swore the tunnel flared

with rainbow rings of dazzling light, colors expertly mixed

by God’s steady hand. The children speak of angels

and the glow of a million bulbs.

Like birth, we are swept from the dark into the light,

falling into arms of pure radiance.