This morning I put my arms around heaven.
Theologically speaking, it seems, heaven is feminine.
I held her close and in mystic memory
recalled no one before did I hold so sweetly.
I gathered her up as a boy picks a flower
for a life he has yet to encounter.
She shared with me her times:
the ankle broken by a boy’s love,
the airplane out of which she flew like a dove,
the cousin who saved her that I might send her rhymes.
And then when morning was done, this beautiful lady
gave me a kiss spun from honey.