Sunday Morning (VI, VII, VIII)

VI
In heaven in silence sit
vast statues of stone
on earth there is no quiet
stone clouds break open
what does the thunder say?
Don’t sit under the apple tree
fall is the mother of beauty
with anyone else but she.
She doesn’t like her picture
taken nor to be in a poem
does not care she is beauty
but takes time with her hair
avoids rules not her own.
Heaven falls from the sky
no heaven no earth below.

VII
Words are not a product
of heaven but of earth.
Sunday morning returns
with a cup of French Roast
under a grapevine wreath
looped herbs and flowers.
The coffee smells of earth
the first gentle rain stirs
petrichor into the air
the dry grass two crows
the cat on the dirt path.
In heaven no senses no
tenses no need no rain
no sun no mud no crud.
All sense is earthbound.

VIII
Sunday morning slows
autumn leaves falling
where she lives and walks
in fine form and talks
of the lovely noisy
nights and dirty days
of clean kitchens
and open stays
all means understood
and confused all reason
clear and absurd
peaceful and happy
stones that turn
to stories and poems.
How many choices in one
heaven on one earth?