No Heaven for the King
Always in the faintest glow of pleasure, and always
at its whim, you take what you can, and love it.
As does the king. The rest of it bellows, a dark you fear
but can’t take. You’re home, you’ve always been here.
As has the king. You know taking small pleasures
means gazing at greater ones until you think they too
are with you. So gazes the king. In heaven, confronted
by all pleasures, the excess of light brought gently,
you at first grieve the faint glow as you would any
companion, even immersed in further pleasures you
hadn’t imagined, but heaven is your many loves laughing
among them. And the king, whose only companion
has been all he’s never missed, affirms every pleasure,
and realizes there is no other heaven.