afterwards

We are different
you and i
we see
smell taste
in different
senses
i cut an apple
and offer you the sweet
you tear an orange
offer me
the seed
we hear music from the lips
of others
mine is languorous
yours a disjointed
cacophony
we view God

through
a prism that filters
the other
I cannot see
except for Christ
you see mirrored reflections
to eternity

do we then take our flowers
smell their secret
and disappear?
or is there
the slightest sigh
in the air
that keeps us
ready
the morrow