choirs in a time of soloists

at night, outside
the tanks. the field,
full of singing
insects. full
of light. you
cannot hear it, can
no longer hear it.
you place your hands
upon it, feel it
humming, silent.
like plucked
strings. like
air on strings. and
up above you, you
cannot see it. can
no longer see it.
so full is it of
light.

there is nothing
divine. it is all
divinity. there are no
places sacred. it is
all sacred. no
there cannot be
anything holy. it is
all holy. it is
not my god, not
your god. it is not
our god. no
god, no. only
god god oh
god. oh.

not “what is it about”, no, but, “what does it make you, allow you to, feel”