by Matthew Zangen
Heaven is a hole in the head,
a sprawling sacred space
to cast ourselves
dreaming forever without senses.
Our physics can't hold us here forever.
We were puzzled from lines in the sky,
encrypted with names and endless bodies
compressed enough to hold,
old enough to know.
There can be faith, then,
when so loudly trusting light
to silently bare our spots.
Our better senses are wished away
to these wells of eden, held by knowing vines
that would tear us from our heads
and give us new names in the stars.
Posted on 12/09/2018
Copyright © 2020 Matthew Zangen