When heaven can manage to meet me.
In a crowded with goodness, forest.
Or, perhaps, beneath a cloudy sun.
In a mysterious alcove with lost souls bouncing off shallow walls.
History dripping like spare change to the tin floor.
Framed pictures of loved ones…with two feet or four.
When heaven can manage to meet me…
I would sit leisurely in a recycled Adirondack chair.
Pondering bubble thoughts.
Dreaming of forgotten factories and their avenues of broken schemes.
Mystical back woods.
Inflating woodsy possibility.
Bliss dripping in black and white.
With moments of color keeping score.