No Time in Heaven
What does one say in an age of impatience?
Capture the essence of eternity in a bite?
The past is curved talons of death,
suggesting an ending, a fixed impenetrable boundary
between memories of happiness and the empty unconscious.
I pitched the softball to Patrick and Richard caught the long arc
in the outfield under summer sun that I drank bright with
cushions of clouds floating by far above but close enough
to taste like snowflakes a week before Christmas.
In heaven I will do this over and over again,
forgetting each time and starting anew.
New. It will forever be new, young, alive,
peaceful, safe, serene, joyful, healthy, blessed.
There will be no endings, no beginnings, no past, no future.
Only the present laughter and shouts of triumph.
The greatest of all victories, the capture of happiness in one day.
John H. Medeiros, April 2020
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