Taft Tunnel

This is the Taft tunnel, nearly 2 miles connecting light to light.  

When we enter, Light comes with us. Following us, 

it is next  to us  and around us.  Then traveling into rock 

Light decides to stop without warning and leaves no hint 

that it was ever really with us.  Mid-tunnel, asleep in the 

black, a sign whispers that we crossed a border.  The ebony 

tunnels’ trails are seamless but Montana black is the same as 

Idaho black. It is dark, the black dark when eyes squeeze tight, 

shut and one lid pushes hard on the its pair.  This dark is 

unrecognizable but we must find its finish; ride up-right true, 

focusing the fragile searching beam shining from handles held 

tight, but unsteady.  The ray  settles on the reflective patch in 

front of me safe on your back, but the weak beam is skittish

and bounces quickly off and is lost inside dark, catching  

nothing solid.  Black takes over and I am lost again but then 

my glow finds that safe place on your back and each time it 

does, it stays steady longer and I am good in knowing you

are there to help get me out of the dark, back to light, and 

we’ll be safe.  It presents, far away, as the slightest pinprick 

of daytime. Insignificant but still magnificent against the 

endless black sheets that swallow. But as we travel on it grows 

and expands and moves. Our target shows easy, to know and 

maintain and we meet light as unknown knots relax  and untie 

themselves as  our old companion engulfs us with the sweet 

safeness we remember.

Lexie Wyman