Heresy Blooms
When Gods Are Dark Matter
Sometimes another writer’s words strike like a match in the dark.
Reading Joe Nichols’ The First Touch is Fire left me with a spark I could not ignore.
This poem is what grew from that ember.
Heresy Blooms
The inner tide is no longer enough. I must call it as I see it. Heresy—ha! You redirect my awe. My gods cannot be known. They are dark matter’s pull— they flare, they vanish, they inspire. My sacred festers, like cordyceps in the serpent, Ouroboros unraveling— then rising, again, to sacrilege lost. Heresy blooms in the cosmos. Not rebellion, but orbit. Cordyceps’ spore, serpent’s coil— hushed ... as dark matter bends the stars.
I leave this bloom of heresy with you—
may it spark, may it hush,
may it bend your stars a little differently tonight.
