Eustace Tilley In Heaven I
Insincere, they said,
Your heart is forever vanishing, going out of sight
returning each night to its violable branch,
its enchanted wood. Like a firefly it beckons. Ha!
I set my course. It disappears. Appears again
somewhere in the well, in a new direction,
then again, no longer the fire. Quark
dark and cold the altarstone, re-reminding me that I, too,
have lingered long on twilight benches in city parks
as the moon linked itself to the night,
tapping my spats lightly on stone to indicate-what?
Interest? Impatience? Let's have a drink, go to bed,
and then, perhaps, a good dinner.
In time I did die and went to heaven-surprise!
even a caricature must, you know, go in ruffs,
in discreet whiffs, up the nostrils of the gods.
There, toeing the mark, was Nature's advocate.
Here it is harder to be critical.
The butterflies are of a golden hue. Remember butterflies?
Here we reflect long days on past glissando
while the stars come on
and the fire-flower sinks in every human hearth.
poem by Morgan Michaels
Added by Poetry Lover
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