Once There Was Heaven
How about this breath that won’t follow?
It is, after all, in suspension,
the moments that used to make faith possible
I have made an enemy out of bliss.
The eye of a cyclone is empty and quite
it forgets air and light
yet, it is a story made out of light and air
so let’s hear it:
I followed the footprints on the grass
on the white dust
on melting snow
to the bus stop—where we never wait
where we talk about dark matter and matters of dark
I ask a thousand question and a million more
we search for paper boats to hold us on land
home away from home—we are in transit
I find poems on the tip of stranger’s lips
you are adept in satire after all;
the howling crowd is origami menagerie, so are we,
immersed in solitude right next to each other, so are we,
heaven wants me to come back to its doors,
yet truth is subjective and it leaves an unfamiliar aftertaste—
stop, retreat, reverse
erase—you can’t leave,
the walls are a myth
I can’t give back what you have become
earth, delight, glimpse of a dream, sudden burst of euphoria
These days, and the days before that,
I have learned to unlearn
your absence and fear.