The gentle arm of a distant shore----
Stretches---a million miles or more
Away from this memory's thought of mine
Splashing with fragrant saltwater brine.
Heaven's door must remain somewhere beyond
Past this wide ocean, over the pond
Lungs breathing carefully cries of the gull
Each little crest like a trickling hill.
Grasped under thumbs of the rustic brown ports
Enclosed by the gates of our human courts...
No...Mortal today, heaven tomorrow
Across the undulating foaming furrow.