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Thomas Kinkade Enters the Kingdom of Heaven

Darkness first. A crescendo
of lidocaine darkness. A warmth.
None of the fear of absence
a life rehearses daily. Next,

a star. The infinity found
in Reader's Digest continues
to slip away: no book,
no Peter. The celestial accountant

is a fixed point, pulsing
judgment. Maker of things.
Sold your toppled species
what it wanted: placid worlds


where forgetting
could sate another's hunger.
Still, harmless. Closer now,
and brighter. The reward

is a closeness to the source,
distance calculated
to the micron, but close
enough to know forever

how achingly we miss
the light we pretend to know.