A Different Heaven Who will remember the truth, behind the way morning glories devour fences and telephone poles, is life hunger and the way it feels to stretch out delicate green tendrils and pour forth so much purple? And who will remember the perfection, that ten thousand wild geese, screaming in a frost burned meadow rise toward, is a warm birth and the joy of singing through winter heavy air? And who will remember the love, which makes the sweat flow clear and sweet down lovers' backs, is a fragile leaf unfolding, gently toward light and holy rain? And when the righteous burn their vision across the earth and silence it with their dreams of heaven, Who will remember? ©1986 J.L.Stanley |
