Inferno, Purgatorio, Paradiso—

mountains and meridians

carve the dozens of degrees 

of mediocrity. 

Even in the mouth of the firedrake, 

which fogs the night with its hunger,

there’s an up and a down

and a clamber of men for redemption.

How hard would you scrabble to break the cloud bank?

To find God or space?

That sort of thinking will grease the way

and slide you back down the gullet to suffer.

But the question is out, and you can’t help but wonder,

do you repent of the question,

or the answer?