BILL BERKSON

The One God           

Once heaven was just a boy and a girl

And a path to the beach.

That was before the rooms were gutted and you learned

How to exhibit bereavement

Would earn your weight in brimming

Moon lagers.

Literally, “the bee’s knees.”

The shoulders of Roland de Smoke

Cuddle two abreast on a tray.

While air lasts, cities also die, old gasbags 

With quilted manners, prepuce because the English

Taste in pictures slackened.

Then again, despite the poison crumbs,

The two just walk on tiptoes out of doors,

Pressing along the keen incline.

What will happen, what to say

If and when the first door opens, the wings

Flutter in turn as nights subside?

                  ---Bill Berkson

Bill Berkson is a poet, critic and professor emeritus at the San Francisco Art Institute. His books include Expect Delays, Portrait and Dream and Repeat After Me. He divides his between San Francisco and New York.