Who would have thought the afterlife would
look so much like Ohio？ A small town place，
thickly settled among deciduous trees.
I lived for what seemed a very short time.
Several things did not work out.
Casually almost， I became another one
of the departed， but I had never imagined
the tunnel of hot wind that pulls
the newly dead into the dry Midwest
and plants us like corn. I am
not alone， but I am restless.
There is such sorrow in these geese
flying over， trying to find a place to land
in the miles and miles of parking lots
that once were soft wetlands. They seem
as puzzled as I am about where to be.
Often they glide， in what I guess is
a consultation with each other，
getting their bearings， as I do when
I stare out my window and count up
what I see. It's not much really：
one buckeye tree， three white frame houses，
one evergreen， five piles of yellow leaves.
This is not enough for any heaven I had
dreamed， but I am taking the long view.
There must be a backcountry of the beyond，
beyond even this and farther out，
past the dark smoky city on the shore
of Lake Erie， through the landlocked passages
to the Great Sweetwater Seas.