It’s an editor’s privilege to respond or comment on contributions sometimes: bear with me!
Your poem connects. It reminds me of John Betjeman, writing in prose:
“Many people, when they enter a quiet room, automatically – even before shutting the door – rush to turn on the wireless as though quiet were as unhealthy as a cold draught.”
And there is Dylan Thomas’s ‘Bible-black night’ in Under Milk Wood, which is a time of creation, as is the dark you reference in Genesis. ‘Let there be light’ indeed, ‘Kindly Light, amid th’encircling gloom, Lead thou me on.’ (Newman, of course.)
Your light that is poor for hearing secrets is from the same well as Shakespeare’s,
of man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not
seen, hand is not able to taste, his tongue
to conceive, nor his heart to report, what my dream
(Midsummer Night’s Dream, IV:2).
These lines are not slap-stick comic, however slap-stick Bottom is elsewhere. When we are challenged, do we admit it and explore it, or turn on the bright lights or loud music?
A lighthouse cannot lead if the captain is dazzled by floodlights.
I mentioned R.S. Thomas in my introduction. We read how he prayed at his holy well on 17 October 2016:
Ignoring my image I peer down
to the quiet roots of it, where
the coins lie, the tarnished offerings
of the people to the pure spirit
that lives there.
Connections! Thank you again, for an offering by no means tarnished!