Lines

I think heaven is like Walking barefoot on sand; Gulls and waves offer Their timeless opinions Like memory’s ancient song; A raucous chorus rising From blue sky and gray-green sea; Silky smooth rocks warmed Like skin under a bright yellow sun.

We walk crooked lines Teasing random directions To match our wandering thoughts; Unimportant destinations call out– Please come here or there, But single steps lead us on Placed one upon another Pointing not to a particular place But to all places we have been And will go.

We are ghosts ourselves Leaving no lasting marks; Our tentative steps Erased by a secret moon; But journey inside to see Our inner cave drawings Which will last after we are dust Recorded in the words we write And in the people who read them.