Science Says

That the walls have no texture suggests that we,

the angels and I, are perfect. And we are,

the way children are until they are no longer.

I remember seeing ground and wondering

where walking might take me. Up or down?

In a landscape of alabaster clouds,

a ball is being rolled out as if it’s a future

about to be now, which is odd, because here,

there is no time, it’s all the same eternity.

My mother wanted to believe that

my goodness would last and I suppose it has.

I’ve killed no one. Whenever I was lost,

it was like a daredevil airshow,

the angels and I free-flying at 90 thousand feet.