Taxonomy of heaven

My feet push together like scullers
Against the soft soil under the junipers
In the prints they leave amongst the leaves and pebbles
Something twitches in the rubble
Birds cry all around me
I think they are lost
Cannot find one another in the sun-torn sky
And the whitecaps destroy their voices
And here I sit with the illusion of choice
But neon green moss still watches me
With a cautious curiosity
The decomposing mess under the canopy
Will never reveal whether it is hungry
Or merely warm
The souls of these trees screen
Harbor from uncouth sea
Keep my inner violence within a circle
Of ancient, nearly forgotten
Sanctuaries of green
Still back away and can't tell you why
Deeper into the thicket
I am all wistful gazes and explosions
Of night and day
People shouting something about whales
Gives me a headache
I can hear their baritone, sea-green, three miles away
Other instants turn my thoughts to a girl
Headed for the havens in New Zealand
Or a daughter in braids and acrid waves of
Colored foam by the docks
Full of smiling strangers
To be raised on tragedy
Now guided toward some sheer wall of majesty
That I could never climb
With crampons and rope or by dreamed levitation
I believe that paradise is the worst thing
That can seduce a human being
Without the contrast of cold there is no
Appreciation of warmth
And you, my love, perched in the sun
You are on your own for awhile
And it makes me feel refreshed and just a little less tired
When you sketch your branches, your stones
When we are apart but not alone
But there are not enough drugs or doctors in the world
To show me the way home.