If you throw clouds a long way off into the sky
And wait, they will come down again
Back into the near sky,
Your heart, your soul,
The rainbows that plunge
and the valleys where the streams flow.
And you will know that heaven is a little bit nearer
Then anyone suspects.
Right here, in fact.
You just don't remember it
Sitting over words
Very late I have heard a kind of whispered sighing
Like a night wind in pines or like the sea in the dark
The echo of everything that has ever
Still spinning its one syllable
Between the earth and silence
—Lee Van Laer, Parabola's Poetry Editor