Monday, April 3, 2017


The day after God made a rock
Too heavy for Him to lift,
Heaven vanished, along with
All who dwelt there except a bent seraph
Two dominions, an addled throne
And a handful of saints. Down the road
A duplicate Heaven, constructed
For just such an emergency,
Flickered to life. A few details were wrong;
There were more cats, to begin with.
Most of the occupants lacked wings
But flew by wildly flapping their arms.
In Peter's absence, St. Brigid
Took over the gate. For form's sake,
The God of this New Heaven maintains
An official residence there but usually
Spends His nights on Earth,
Lying on His Back, looking at the stars
Trying to remember if He'd made them.

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