Wouldn’t it be funny
if this—right now—
was paradise? What if
this planet, journeying
through the dark vacuum
of the universe, with its
oceans and forests,
its yellow daffodils and
red-striped woodpeckers,
was the secret garden
we’d hoped for? How’d it feel
if the steam of summer
rain or the hard wall
of cold was the heaven
we were promised? If water
was nectar, the wind
a caress? And what as we
stumbled through our lives,
busy with our battles
and our buying
and our frustrations,
eyes turned inward
and heads bowed,
we didn’t even notice?