Turn the sky upside down. It was below all along.

Flip the clouds to swim in a bottomless ocean.

I then become the crawling creature, skulking on the ceiling,

watching the other bugs believe the real world

was where the ground met their feet.

-

Know better, know deeper, know wiser

that when hands rise upward, toes dip downward

into the greatest of God's realities.

Suspended from rooftops, how small the world I see,

how small the ceiling tiles are.

-

Constellations, childish in creation,

strung together picturesque imagination,

unchained threads born of a quilt-maker's loom.

Billowing up and down, up and down

by vespers laundering a tapestry.

-

I could drop down and dive for centuries,

but for fear of becoming dust, streaming between stars,

keep rooftop feet clenching ever tighter.

Watching from rafters as heaven dances,

waltzing in cork-screw loops,

beckon an insects cries;

Do you see me? Can you hear me?

Are you there?