The stage is a proxy anywhere:
A dank chapel, say,
With a coin-operated light
That for a price illuminates
The Expulsion from the Garden
Or Noli Me Tangere.
With a mechanical click,
The light ceases,
Leaves you deep-keeled in darkness.
You can hear the divine
Murmur, its lingua ignota:
A thrown voice, a concealed stitch.
A blessing feels like a blow.
Wax threads and trickles
Down a candle’s length
Before the flame shudders
And gutters. Dark’s allure recurs,
Whelms you like a wave.
Eric Pankey is the author of several books, most recently The Future Perfect: A Fugue (Tupelo). He teaches in the MFA program at George Mason University.
Photo by Paul Green on Unsplash
