Michael, you always said you thought that when we died we’d be amazed at how close heaven and earth had been all along, and we just didn’t realize it.
No, we don’t realize it. How can we?
I hold your shirt to my face and breathe in your scent.
Where was it that you went
You forgot to pack before you went away.
I take your books from off the shelf, the pages worn.
You loved the words, the lore
But now your story takes you beyond my reach.
I gaze at the nearest foothills, past muddy fields.
A search beyond would yield
‘Tis not in woods or earth your spirit takes wing.
I wonder at the brightness of the burning sun.
If I could to it run
not in its heat would you see His majesty.
Where are you? Is it as they say, or do shadows
fall around you high, low,
stilling your voice and now keeping Him from view?
I stand with face upturned, survey the midnight stars.
The answer comes with tears,
I am the one on the dark side of the moon.