Heaven's Gate

The preacher made a passing reference
to heaven’s gate

and I know that I should have been
paying close attention

to the deeper theological or textual
points being made

but I couldn’t 

because I couldn’t get past 

that phrase of heaven’s gate or

out of the reverie that led me to
notice 

that we never talk about heaven’s
drawbridge

or heaven’s razor wire

or heaven’s electric fence 

or heaven’s heavily patrolled walls

or heaven’s snipered turrets. 

No, it’s just plain old heaven’s gate.

The sort of thing that anyone might
push open

with whatever meek strength is left
and,

hearing the friendly creak,

take those small, weak steps

that lead

into paradise. 

On the Path

The wooded path between the road and lake
Demands a tending after winter's thaw
I headed out with gloves and axe and saw--
The sort of thing we do for order's sake.

I startled up a grouse spread in the sun
He couldn't fly, the victim of a fox;
He scuttled off to hide in weeds and rocks
And fuse his form to where such work gets done.

And, yes, my face and hands are scarred with age
And bitterness has holed up in my heart

And I'm no stranger to consuming rage
And my thoughts keep me distant and apart

But now I know my death is incomplete:

I still weep for the wounded at my feet.