Yes I guess the gate of heaven
is everywhere.
But you had to see on your cellphone
in the dark
that the train would be two hours late
turning us three back home
at exactly the right moment so that
from your side
of the turned-around car you saw
that shooting star.

Thank you, whoever made the train late,
and made the sun rise later
throwing winter light on your image
in my rear-view mirror:
The face of an angel and the bare patch
from radiation
showing a crescent scar, gateway
to consciousness.
And out there, a celestial ocean of cloud filling
the Shenandoah Valley

hilltops popping out like islands
in a bay.