If I were called in to construct a religion, I should make use of light.
I would worship at the peak of the day,
Basking and glorying on some hilltop made divine by the sun,
My offering a half-hour of sapped-strength lazing.
I would not sequester my faith in dusty shadows,
Chiaroscuroing my faith between candle light and shadowed pew,
I would blaze it –
From fires and phone-screens we would beaconise our hopes.
And when they came to me stumbling from darkness
I would anoint them with sunlight.
At first backs turned to gentle warmth,
Then, turning, with ineffective eyelids they see –
The truth of the moth:
That behind the light is darkness, and behind the darkness light.