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Sunday, August 09, 2009

The Trembling Way


up there,
they say
everything is beautiful;

                  up there, where there
is no gate or door
to bar the way,
no before or after
to seal the day --

so the angels tell me
(we talk frequently) --

laughter flows
like roads
to freedom,
even if they
lead nowhere,

a place with
no short, or long,
and with no doubt
that you belong;

                  up there, so I'm told,
there's no young or old,
no narrow hold
or room; no last margin
of land locked
in wartime gloom,

what we can only
dream of down here,
you can really
see up there;

no misery, no pity,
only joy in
what the garden brings,
trees in full health,
birds that soar free;

it's a paradise
up there,
in which every animal
sings their own melody.


leaving me
for up there,
you'll forget me;

                  up there, in such beauty --
how can I compete,
with the memories
we made together?
however sweet --

would it at least
lure you back --

even if briefly
to speak to me
like a wind that blows
from the ends
of the unseen;

or to appear
like an untouchable star
clothed in evening shadow,
drifting in;

                  or up there, so I've read,
there is a bridge of fire
connected to down here,
a fluorescent rainbow
that descends
in old Norse legends,

Bifröst they say:
the trembling way
leading from heart to hearth,
from heaven to earth,

would you use what divinity
has made for angels,
a journey to ground
to bring dreams
lost and found,

to come
and see closely
what love has done
to me?

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