Four o’clock in the morning
pacing about the room
trying to coax our baby back to sleep
I look over to the window —
a square of pure primeval darkness
between the half-drawn curtains
millions of years old
millions of miles deep.
A pocket of the universe
a tunnel into space
black, cold, and silent
but alive.
The force flows through the window
thick and viscous
but at the same time subtle and vapor thin
enveloping and entering me
like smoke, foaming through my body
slow and heavy, merging and becoming me.
Inside me there’s only darkness —
awesome and immense, almost frightening,
but glowing with warm benevolence.