Christ the man wonders
off-handed, in the sleeve-tugging way
the mind sometimes makes,
just as he caps the toothpaste
about what it means
to “shed some light”.
His stampeding thoughts halt,
revealing an auroch snuffling
in mid-pasture, rutting up the fertile
ground. Brazen black and horned,
a shake of its massive, shaggy head casts off
bits of light cascading like broken water,
brittle, sloughing into piles around his hooves.
Like lightening flaked. Like manna.
A moment taken entirely elsewhere
by the thought of what might be.
A darkened auroch made of light
lingering in a dingy suburban bathroom.
The flutter of joyous surprise that follows
hope also lingers, leaving him
aired out and vital.