I

But where is it? And what?
The answers unknown area
built into us – bound genetically,
tied unfathomably to
our unsubstantiated spirituality.

What comes next? The same enquiry
cried in the dead of night
by the aged wanderer, traversing the
interstice
between this life and the next,

as by the youngest of those
beginning to grasp the finite
clutch we hold over time
and our animation.

II

What is death? But with that comes
its neighbour question, and how
to make meaningful this
limited hold -

do we clamour and claw for
the eternal? Or find our solace down here
where the ground is solid
and not nebulous
as it is up there?

III

Is it even up?
The theologians know, even
the everyday professors of faith
claim know as much, but I don’t.

On some days it is the height
of appeal; grandiose wonder and glory
wrapping us like a mother to her child,

but on others I wonder. There will be
no sadness,
no tears,
no pain,
but aren’t they where we find ourselves?

He will wipe away all tears,
but how then will I moisten my cheek?

IV

Is it real, even good, to dream
of a life with no misery?
Purity in bliss the rule, no defined
exception.

I have not found any answer;
if claim thee I am gratified to listen,
but I doubt it.

I know not the pulse of His chest,
rising, falling,
but I know He breathes.
I know not the direction of His dwelling either,
but it is there.

V

Maybe I will find no answer by searching;
He says wait, trust, believe,
and you will understand in time.

Sight has burned many a man
and caused hostility;
it is not in our way
to see and believe,

but only to believe.