Tired clouds in open skies,
they tower over me as I wander through golden wheat fields,
we raised our hands, toward the heavens, and she -delighted to be free, laid her curly hair atop my weary shoulder.

In these moments
I'm free like you? she said.

We have all to chased a heaven,
how long will my heart pulse for that dream world?

maybe I should search close to home,
and focus on the morning blossoms,
and wandering cattle.

Perhaps the flickering of a candle can produce the light I need.
Maybe I think of heaven because reality is like a flooded freeway, and I have no wings.