Ask me where to find Paradise
and I’ll make up some flim-flam about
beds and marshmallows
and the man I love…

Is it just around the corner, to the left?
To the right?
Up in the sky… in heaven (sic),
a single grain of sand held in a tiny hand?

Tell me where to find Paradise
and I’ll follow you there, if it’s far.
If Paradise is so high and far,
is that not just too high and too far to fall?

Tell me you’re off to find Paradise
and I’ll watch you go.
Ask me where to truly find Paradise
and I’ll tell you, gently, that I just don’t know.

He would say Paradise is not lost, or found,
but bubblegum daydreams.
(And he’ll let fly a sweep of his hand…)
Just.

And, I hear,
that birds fly there.
And they sing.