R I S E S

It’s a tarry black uckiness
Called DARK
and every Soul knows
IT intimately
Every Foot has traveled
Its unmapped Valley
IT not only covers
but smothers completely
And when it descends
with the heaviness of a
Mud-coated itchy wool blanket
IT sucks even the last
desperate breath
no ventilator could salvage
IT HAPPENS
first at a distance
that no horizon can hold
and then even more resounding
than an amplified heart beat
using your ribs as a xylophone
L I G H T
IT rises
with a newness
The Lazarus
of a new day
And it doesn’t hold you
IT FREES YOU
to unimaginable beginnings
G R E A T
is what RISES
THAT never sets
(and is noticed)