1
The surging sea
Slots its surf
Into the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
2
Two islands down the line
A lone crow
Cries out for its kind,
Bouncing on the fragile limb
Of a lodgepole pine parked
On Mount Constitution's summit
3
I hear the musical murmur
Of two voices in the next room
Like a rhythmic background
With no melody
Coming from
The other channel.
4
Tell Saint Peter
At the Golden Gate
He's just going to
Have to wait
Because I am not coming
The day before tomorrow
Or the day after yesterday.
I am in no rush
To be issued a harp
And besides
I can't tell an E flat
From a B sharp.
I think heaven can wait
They have enough people already
And do they really need a date?
---o0o---
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