There are no adjectives to describe the whiteness
of the light emanating from Christ
as he levitates above the mountaintop:
fresh snow
is dun in comparison, a klieg light shining
on a film’s opening night is as dim as the nightlight
in a child’s room.
Peter, James and John
cower from its brightness, its frosty glare.

Moses and Elijah, sudden companions
in the air, achieve a pearly glow,
but they are swart next to the Son of Man.

A voice from the clouds—
an observation
resembling a command.

Then the vision disappears,
as visions are wont to do.

Tell no one until after I am gone,
Jesus says,
as he leads them back to the valley,
casually curing a lunatic along the way.

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