CEILING

CEILING

nothing Sistine
about my ceiling

just plain off-white,
not sure whether
the paint they used
would count
as matt
or gloss

tradesman’s work, not
a hint here of Renaissance genius

and then the light fitting
hard to see a noted design style
at play here

and this the ceiling
through which
my soul must no doubt
travel to meet
my God

for which I believe
it will have to serve,
will serve well

staring at the ceiling
as night descends
just
  a trick of the light all

that it might take
to set me off

soaring
      no g force attendant on
this acceleration

all just
practice
     to
test my engines
fins and wings

missile myself mentally
running through all
that is
   required

practice making perfect
as every evening at dusk
I put
   myself through the motions

prepare
    for the real thing with
every single
imaginary run