I stared at the ceiling

New thoughts had the podium

And would not let go

The comfortable perch

The warming blankets

The fleeting, fickle dreams

Would not be extended.

Outside yellow ash leaves

Fluttered in the damp gray

Persistent breeze

Emptying colonies in a single gust.

What would the day bring?

I rose bedside

Then stopped

Sensing a glorious weightlessness.

Behind me a form remained


Dozing in the common things

Of “then”

Bot “now” was different

Brilliant, crystalline

Hinting at endless song

And the voices of many old friends

A compelling pulse of purpose

Colour, choirs and Christ

Outside my bedroom door.

Fully awake

Through death.

And wearing white.


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