Just Supposing...

You’ve passed on – gone
to heaven; you could be
anything you wanted...
anywhere you’d like to be.
Lazing on a beach, naked
down to your toes. Nothing
to be afraid of, not
anymore. Death

done and dusted. No
pain, no more worries;
and all this offered you
not on a silver platter
but in the hand of one
who sated the masses
with five loaves
and five, tiny fishes...

Summer – ripe and full,
opening like an orchid;
mists of evening, steaming in
off the ocean. And what
of tomorrows? You could be
the breeze over Bali
whipping up the wide expanse
of sand and rippling
breakers – even the thermals
ridden by eagles and egrets.

Or perhaps the rain
driving in off the sea
on Caithness, or Lismore
or the Outer Hebrides...
Enjoying the silence
the quiet life you strived for;
the solitude you sought
all your life, minus
the loneliness.