What do we know of one heaven, let alone all seven? Some of us think we have visited, our lives slipping sideways into death and back, our flesh grown phosphorescent.
the child fills her jar
We are iridescent, borne on currents of the atmosphere as we drift through a geography we think we know.
we scan the sawgrass
for a marsh fox
Seventh heaven—perhaps that's where you are these days, having migrated through matter dense and dark, becoming more and more translucent until in that high destination, you are light.
the fortune teller finds
a star in my palm