~

colin says, a penny . . . 

i'm looking at my hands

i turn them palms up

as if i were holding something

something light, a balloon perhaps

in reality i'm holding nothing

my fingers spread

having let slip through almost everything

~

i smile and laugh, nothing, i say

life is good

~

i'd rather not think about the insidious blackness

that lurks 

it's out there, always, waiting to pull us down

that's the hell part

saved by nothing more than luck

but surviving isn't enough, isn't everything

it comes with its own set of memories

~

hell is universal, welcoming all

my particular circle

is peopled with those who weren't there in time

those that got the call after the fact

~

heaven is also a universal

my particular heaven is peopled

with those of us who

despite ourselves, are able to say

something good happened

by luck or by miracle

who's to say, it happens

~

i look at colin 

is he reading my thoughts

he is, he says, are you being intentionally vague

i laugh

no, i think loudly, it's complicated

he waves half-heartedly at a fly

that is determined not to find the open window

~

we're on our way to town

he needs an arbor for his cut-off saw

colin's idea of heaven

is searching for an arbor for his cut-off saw

that, and alone-time among the vines

though i may be over simplifying the case

~

hell is despair, heaven is possibilities

or the search for something tangible

~

what of love—is hell unrequited love

and heaven simultaneous orgasms, i'm just asking

~

dante's circles weren't peopled with lovers

but liars, cheats, deceivers, politicians

the ninth circle for the treacherous, judas and ulysses and the like

no lovers, only the lustful

lovers descend into their own hell, or rise into their own heaven

~

the drive into town is predictably futile

lowe's, home depot, and four local hardware stores

have exactly the wrong thing, which colin accepts with equanimity

he buys two plain-jane three-quarter inch washers

which, he says, will do 

~

we stop at a roadside bar called the ruddy duck

for a beer

rather, he does, i have something called a mule

i guess because it packs a kick

~

it isn't this simple

terri deceived me, and she sure as hell 

isn't going to hell

i deceived annie, i did it because she wanted me to

but that's a poor excuse

i'd better pack my summer clothes

hell was the summer joannie whipple ignored me

heaven was two days on the beach 

with my north country girl

heaven was the day julie and i lay in the shade of the cottage

hell was losing her

~

heaven and hell aren't for lovers

that's for the here and now

as is living through and surviving the blackness, despair, hopelessness

dante can toss the treacherous and deceivers

into any damned circle he wants

we're stuck in this realm, most of us, maybe the oblivious

escape the depth of despair and the bliss of heaven

most of us are somewhere in between

being spoon fed samples of each, despair and bliss

as if we were trying to find the perfect sorbet at cold stone creamery

~

driving back to the vineyard

(i trust colin implicitly)

he says, a penny . . .

oh, i say, it's complicated

i can see he's thinking about washers and arbors

his blue eyes on the horizon

somewhere not too far off is the ocean

i don't know why, but it seems significant

~