And heaven’s not a place in time
Where souls go after death;
Instead, it’s something more sublime:
A cloud of frozen breath,

The glint of sunlight on a pond,
An oak tree staying put,
A cobweb dangling from a frond,
Earth crunching underfoot,

The lichen clinging to a bough,
A berry-eating tit
And everything that’s here and now,
Though “here” and “now” aren’t it.

For knowing knows without recourse
To words when it’s their very source.

Photo by Birger Strahl on Unsplash

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