A good day for watching sky –
blue from all corners
pointing toward each other.
It's God's geometry,
not a puff holding it in place.
Mud and muck under my back
hold me down, stir up if I move.
I don't. My feet seek no pedals.
The heaven still drills through closed eyes
and ten feet of water, rusty black,
the kind Mother said never mix with vodka.
I sip it anyway,
through ears, nose, toes, fingerprints.
It's not so bad, just part of the trip.
Arriving never takes too long.
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