John McKernan
When You Enter Heaven
You’ll be emptied of language
You’ll have to reach for each syllable
The way a child
Reaches for the bright candle
Or a sphere of white chocolate
The rose For example
Will be missing
All of its letters Arranged
Instead into the petals of a perfume
Even the bright thorn
Which pierces your hand
Will carry a small triangle of silence
Letting you know at last what you were
What you finally had left behind
Other work by John McKernan