It is not just the thought of heaven

anymore, but instead

it is this breath of love

like an open door

to all that truly is.

My eyes have been washed by light,

and my fingers feel

what is bright

beneath our fragile skin.

It is a soul, a heart,

a painter in love with her art

as she reveals the world

for what it truly is.

Yes, it is her hand,

the movement of God,

which gives as the beggar begs,

which forgives as the sinner sins.

And I am both

a beggar and a sinner,

and perhaps this is why

it is so strange.

For heaven takes us

at any age

because it can,

because it does.

God cannot deny himself.

Our only requirement

is that we love.