Heaven   They gave me all the paints I wanted — every color and hue — but the brushes were dead wrong, the tools were rusty, broken, never   sharpened in the first place. And when things went missing, they assured me, This is heaven, everything you wanted, here are your wings.   But there was nowhere to fly, and the words undulated in the air like smoke rings till their laughter was the last thing I heard.     © Michael Fleming Dummerston, Vermont December 2021