Maybe there are trees though.
There are trees in all good places,
luscious and tall with leaves sprouting like hair
from a body, swaying in the breeze
like a gentle slow dance in time
with the drag of eternity.

Maybe there are trees, surrounded by each other
but still alone. Trees do not need each other
in order to live or be beautiful.
They splay their hands out into open air,
knowing no one will be there to take them.

There are no people in heaven,
but there is definitely sunlight from some other sun,
one that will never burn out. It is a glossy coat
on everything, I imagine. Never too warm.
I know what burning feels like
because I have done it all my life,
the campfire under my skin always climbing
a bit too high and stealing tiny bits of me
to turn to ash. But not this sun. It only glows
with impossible brightness and
always has more to give.

There will be no people in heaven,
just light drifting down onto pale green things
that I will never see.

But I am fine, just fine,
being human
and imagining
they are there.