This is a last poem –
But perhaps not

Since there really is no last poem
So long as we’re still alive.

This is my last poem –
So why won’t you tell me
What’s in my heart today?

This may truly be my last poem –
But it’s not –
Since who can say that
And really mean it.

My last poem
Is silence –

Invisible –
Filled with silent colors.

My last poem
Is waiting

For you to request
A last poem.


In order to meet God, you have to throw yourself out the window
Along with everything you own –
And everything you ever wanted to own.

Then, you have to polish the bare floors and paint the walls white –
Bring in a single flower –
And wait –

Waiting in train stations of ordinary life
Brings engines traveling to desirable places –
But never to God –

Waiting in department stores of dreams
Brings colorful visions to help pass our time waiting –
But not God – no never.

Some say you need to be “born again” to meet God – and that may be,
But I say just start throwing everything you have and are
Out the window –
And that’ll get you there the fastest!