And the Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness could not overcome it.
—John 1:5

There is no deeper darkness.
The rattle of the dirt upon the lid
Must cause some sound waves, even in the close
And muffled air; they fall on a deaf ear.
No light wave even tries to tempt the eye.
The rasping of the rock that rolls to close
A cave would have a similar effect,
Though louder—just as futile for the ear
And just as good at cutting off the eye.

An earthquake opened this one up again,
Which should have made no difference at all.
But when the rising sun stooped and looked in,
Its photons found the night already fled.
A Light that dawned before there was a dawn,
A Light too light and subtle for the eye,
Had flashed already. The more garish sun
Came later, just to let the eye catch up.
The women brought theirs first to gaze upon
What sights the sun was competent to show:
The grave clothes folded and the body gone,
Two men in white who simply made no sense,
A gardener who—but no, that could not be.
Their hearts stopped cold—then started up again.
They blinked their eyes and suddenly could see

The empty cave now gaping in the garden,
The road out to the village of Emmaus,
An upper chamber in Jerusalem,
A campfire on the beach in Galilee
Saw many cold hearts starting up again
And heavy eyelids blinking into vision.
Once let loose, it could not be contained.
The Light leapt forth: Jerusalem, Judaea,
Samaria, the far ends of the earth.
To eyes invisible, from heart to heart
It traveled. Darkness could not overcome it.
Deserts, oceans proved no barrier.
Murderous opposition only served
To fan the Flame. It shines around us still,
Still pointing to the Cave beside the Hill.