At the End of our Street


At the end of our street
There’s a prairie of clouds
And above it white lines
Being drawn by bright birds.
Closer: the chaos of clouds
Is geometry
Being plotted by angels,
Heaven’s just chemistry
The white line is vapour
The bird is a plane
And all of Creation’s
Exactly the same.
It is all just vibration
Being slowed to concrete.
The stairway to heaven’s
At the end of our street.

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