got this off the American Poetry Review site. nice one tho.
Sometimes I feel
mother and father are
watching me, listening
to my thoughts, giggling
at their tadpole squiggling
toward the afterlife,
which is exactly how I began
all this, the work of taking a lifetime
to get over some old embarrassments,
except now I know I'm where
all longing longs to be
and that my parents up there,
like me when I was a kid,
long to grow up into me,
and that their paroxysms
over spilt milk now
are like Moses throwing up
his arms and parting the Red Sea,
and that the sun up there,
which is a shadowy pinprick
of a light so infinite it's been rarified
into spirit, is in its glory
as it makes billions of mistakes a minute.