beyond cold and comprehension
past stashed universes
where God contemplates
the shapes of cosmic islands
where the dead have escaped
old bones and cacophony
where I almost remember
the tingle of first kisses
the silk of fresh thighs
my children’s uncorrupted faces
slipstreams and winging
into the white mystery of clouds
the musty smells of August’s forest floors
smoke and wildflowers
there in that wondrous place
where night and day
are always the same
where the end or the beginning
never matter
there I would bathe in the strong
rich colors of infinity
Donald Everett Axinn
From The Colors of Infinity
