The many tunnels

honeycomb me in

one by one,

I become frozen in deep blue.

I become noisy as a bee cloud.

I become holy like a rooted tree.


The many tunnels

open me into

their skin,


to see the golden lamp, a golden calf

reborn. To believe in the candle who

outweighs, out lives this darkness.


The many tunnels

echo with the heavy

buzz of truth—


a thick noise, snow-like, mysterious as sparkles of light.

A chorus, a gospel, again and again… always knocking, always

echoing, heavy with the buzz of truth.


The many tunnels

go on and on. They hold strong

and sweat


for blessing—a goatskin dewed with promise.

for forgiveness and for no more comparing thoughts

and for silk worms to cocoon my wings.


The many tunnels

show me joy

as they unravel me


to hurl myself into the unknown ,

wade in this heavy pool—to hold

my belief candle high


upon this dark and soon-sacred


Katelyn Durst
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