Filling in the Blanks

Heaven, you see, is blank like an angel
Such a vast blank of silence
Filled to the brim with wonder
That it requires no labels
It’s like the purity of death

The trance that is registered
Before breath, in the genealogy
Of all cosmic cells, the flavour

Of a spring afternoon that doesn’t
Know kinsmen, but feels
How everything is related
In some indescribable unity
Heaven, you see, has no father or husband

Requires no sense of propriety
No status symbols, no possession
Heaven, you see, allows us to simply be.

Poem-3

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