Heaven

In Heaven.......

Will my deodorant fail?
Will I need deodorant? Will I have armpits? Will I have arms?
Will you have a nose? Ah, I know, nobody will even notice.
That's it, right?

Will the traffic lights still turn red?
If they do, will I get them? If I get them, will I have to stop?
If I don't, will I get a ticket? If I do, will I have to pay it?
If I don't, will anyone care?

Will I have neighbors?
Will my neighbors have kids?
Will their kids run through my flowers?
Will my flowers grow beautiful in spite of them?
If they don't, will I notice? If I notice, will I mind?

Will my boss understand me?
Will I be the boss? Will there be any job?
Will there be any thing...at all ...to do?
Will I know you? Will you know me?
Will either one of us even `be'?

Will I cry, will I laugh, will I hurt, will I doubt?
Will I find what I lost? Will I lose what I found?
Will there be any room, any place, any time,
any knowledge of me, any memory of you?
Any moment so sweet that you can't let it go?

Or will it all fade into time and to space
and well up in forms of the kind Master's face?
Oh leave me not here in this world of my `things'
while speaking to me of angel's white wings.
I can't understand, try as I may.
And I'm tortured and vexed with the need to know, hey,
do nine-year-old boys stay nine all their days?
Do hookers and crooks finally mend their sad ways?
Will priests say "I told you" or themselves be surprised?
Will the doubters be risen before our own eyes?
Is it fun? Will it last?
What will happen to past?
And then, too, I wonder about you, my God.

Will you love me forever, now that it's through?
Can I be loving, and can I love you?
I'm rooted in life with my fear and my doubt,
confusion and questions that never run out.
My deodorant fails, the green lights turn red.
The boss says "you're late!" — my flowers are dead.

What will become of the person called `me'
when life's final act is to set my soul free?