Heaven

Heaven






Where long walks

bring sighs

of defeat

to Winterland

where you jump,

hand-in-hand

to snow.



To Springland

and puddles.

Cold grass crisp

with

dewy drowsiness

bring to the ground

heads together

in want

and fulfilment.



To Summer Hills

moss mats

rivers slip through

with closed eyes.



To Fall

into

his arms

and sleep

and sleep



until next season-

not Winter

but heaven's essence,

heaves's bed:



God's breath of sprink

snow-like buds

flutter

about whispers

caught in fingers

that weave pictures

of poesy,

pretty toes



and whispy souls.



Shh, heaven, shh...