(Photo: Insects at night at the yardlight around the corner of the barn roof)

Pounding my fists on our side
of the floor boards of heaven
all I get is:
stinging eyes from the dusty gold trickle through the cracks;
the faint strain of trumpet solos;
the distant sound of the door slamming after new arrivals;
welcoming laughter and introductions;
a wave of cheering as the game turns for the team that will win;
an occasional and all-to-rare, muffled but unmistakeable voice with the wisest, most loving tones, and silence as all there listen;
and left alone in the basement world
I make my way through mould and dark
by the long thin lines of light
that are all I have to see by.