The Light at the End of the Universe (poem)

Not the bioluminescence 

of fireflies pulsing around the maple


out back, nor evening sunfire

flying through purple dusk, but 


the weak electric glow

on unmoving brown fur. 


A young rabbit. Huddled

in the paintbrush shadows


beneath my workbench.

Dead. Stretched on its side,


unbloodied, unbroken, perfect

save for its stillness. Trapped


overnight, unseen in darkness

when I pulled the door down


and killed whatever light

had lit its small eyes. I try


to taste its terror, panting

in hot blindness until its heart


seized. Or maybe choosing

to dive into the lightlessness


that lingers in all living 

things, embracing its own unknown 


instead of squealing

and screaming with only spiders


and dust to hear it. I lifted

its thinness and touched the cold


fur and carried it outside

to birdsong and humming wind,


the thick knot of vines

climbing the fence. I nestled


it into the green, and in

its eye was a pale and dim cloud


like the light of stars

long dead softly fading through space.


This poem appeared previously in Riggwelter. It is included in my upcoming book of poetry, Bright Soil, Dark Sun, which is available now for pre-order purchase through Finishing Line Press.


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