In a Tunnel Underneath West Michigan Avenue

I swear God spoke, his voice
sputtering down from a manhole
cover, disguised as a car missing

a muffler. I could feel
the weight of the concrete
and cars bearing down on the tips

of my hair. And when I
reached to end of the tunnel,
the wall beside me opened

like a wound and I crawled
in, unaware of muddy waters
that ate at my ankles and

the quiet recitation of prayers
above. And in my final moments,
I simply clung to myself and began
singing It Is Well With My Soul.