mining accident

once the explosions consume
every last breath of oxygen
we blow past
this tenuous existence,
wait the interminable wait
at the final stoplight

and we are holy now
along with the cosmic glue
and the impossible numerals

we are elements
in heaven

we settle in for one endless night
at the local tavern
the seven thousand rooms furnished
with benches and tables
crafted of incandescent wood
covered with star-lace
and candles with still flames

the corners and crevices
are immaculate,
conspicuously free
of any trace
of black soot

I'd buy a round for you, old friend,
but both of our tabs are fathomless

and it could not mean as much
as the bond between two souls
who, in the last moment
each held their breath
to spare oxygen
for the other