I do know 
now that when 
I reach Heaven 
the trumpets that 
I will hear 
will be sighs
and the harps
will be whispers
from those who 
I have loved 
and that God
will be a 
child welcoming me 
taking my hand 
saying come it’s 
time to play 

Now sleeping 
you are 
here next 
to me 
and I 
feel what 
I imagine 
your father 
did when 
first he 
gazed upon 
your dozing
too in
his arms 

Wisdom is 
nothing more 
than the 
scars on
the heart
after the 
wounds of
experience have 
finally healed 

Over here 
over there 
back and 
forth we
go just 
two oars
in the 
same lagoon 
moving the 
same boat 
forward to 
where the 
oars never 
know land 
or water 
or somewhere 
in between 
called us