I don't know what Heaven's like
When you see it but my Heaven
Is filled with dust -- dust on the ground
And on the immortal wheels which
Turn and turn and must keep turning.
It slows-filters from the dusklit sky, lighting
On wings and halos, on harps and horns.
It isn't glorious (as many things in Heaven are)
Nor terrible (as some things in Heaven are);
It's the same dust you might see anywhere on Earth
Resting on the doorsills in an old house
Covering the floor of the box room
Hiding, almost, a small green idol
Lost long ago in another place entirely.
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