Whispered Crescendo

Listen
to this wild whisper
tingling through the hairs
on the backs of your arms
like a spring breeze
through a wheatfield
in waves.

Feel each pass
of the sky’s hand
through the roots
of the stalks,
each hair as it bends,
bows to the wind,
dancing improvisationally
in shivering welcome
of this sigh against the skin.

God exhales
the first moment of salvation
when enlightenment dawns
and the darkness
of our long sightless night
breaks open
evaporating ignorance
with a wild whisper
crackling through the hairs
on the backs of our arms
like lightning through thunderclouds,
the rolling boiling flashes,
avalanches
of white-hot weightless magma booming
through a starless wet and moonless midnight
like voices from the end of time
where it all begins.