Heaven is.

Heaven is
the webbed lightning
that stitches up the purple sky
and the salvaging tears
we cry when we ask who God is
and is not.

Heaven is
the humanity that has disappeared,
that has slipped through fingers
in near misses and misgivings,
that has loved God in many ways
that have been misunderstood
and misnamed by lookers-on.

Heaven is
the lithe shapeless shifting form
that cannot be named or pinned down,
that cannot discriminate among
Hindu, Buddhist, or Monk,
and will not judge beyond
a heart, a mind, or song.

Heaven is
a sublime canopy over the tired body
on a brutish day,
a blind judge that feels
only a glowing spirit,
a pathway that acts
outside of man’s vain attempt
to control it
to define it
to shape it
to sell it.

Heaven is.




By: K.A. Phinney