These are the things
that matter after all...
the color of the sky,
looking right up into it,
lying in the grass,
the smell of the grass,
the dancing limbs of trees,
the sound of a piano
or a saxophone,
a harp,
the way you look at me,
the hand of those we love;
light,
through stained-glass windows,
in a child's eyes,
light shining in the round
face of the moon.
These are the things
that matter after all,
the things that hold us here,
the very things that finally
let us go...
as if they were themselves
the sweet way back,
the smell of grass,
the hands of those we love,
the gates of heaven.
-- Deb Cooper