Heaven hunts round for those that find itself below, and then it snatches.
the sheet of elegy
while he's still alive, I can't help it,
I follow his breath while he sleeps,
greet each coming and going,
with an Ave.
(Because of how
become the dead.)
But right now he's showering
with a gospel choir, radio
half on and half off that station.
And today's heaven is half hell,
half whole, half hurt,
hunting every naked thing
with the same harsh delight.