I have a terrible day-dream
and I am speeding down a highway
but the day-dream has me
so I hardly notice the cars
that beg to merge
into a southbound lane

and we are on a great golden cloud
flying over the Andes
or the Himalayas
or the Ural
or perhaps even the Appalachians
and the air is so cold and perfect
and cold
and we are gliding forth
impossibly

Look! There’s God! you say
when suddenly we arrive
on the highest peak on the range
and the great golden cloud
evaporates

We are just below the apex point
a hundred yards or so
but we can not see the top
God’s up there! you say and wave
and point and wave
the air is thin for us I think
but not for God I guess
as you start to climb

When you notice that I do not follow
you stop and turn and shout
Do you refuse to meet God?
This can not be god, I say.
God does not simply fetch you
up the mountain. How could you come
to know God, without the climb?

you shout again as I turn and leap away
in to a dark chasm down below
and I consider my fate as I fall
for what seems like a lifetime
as your voice echoes away
Better to perish in real darkness,
I think, than incinerate in some false light

and perhaps I die then, but I never know
for the awful day-dream always seems to end
as the fuel light chimes on