The slatted floor of heaven. Fleetingly,
I glimpse an angel's foot, or what might be
The shadow of a trailing wing, and know
There's something overhead. And yet, although
I'd love to join their distant company,
The dust and darkness of captivity
Enfeeble ears and eyes and overthrow
The will. Unaided, I can't penetrate
Their realm. But, neither can I comprehend
The puzzling clues which seem to indicate
That loving angels constantly descend
To join me in my cramped and dusty state,
And light the stairs that lead to journey's end.
