From The Poetry Alarm Clock:

Heaven has fourteen windows,
a birdbath, a hummingbird feeder,
and a green garden hose
coiled on a giant spool
outside my window.
I can see it from my
comfy perch on the
six foot long sofa.
On the wicker table
beside me are stacks
of books, poets greater than I,
and piles of paper, my children,
struggling to be born.
I have everything I need.
Like God, I can change the climate
with the click of a button.
I can follow the sun all around
the sunroom and never catch it.
I am the earth in an armchair.
There’s no sound here in heaven,
no computer, no telephone,
no TV or radio. Just the chug chug
of a window air conditioning unit
that takes me back forty years
and five hundred miles to hot summer afternoons
in my Grandmother’s den.
When it comes to lazy days,
the Italians have it all worked out:
il dolce far niente,
the sweetness of doing nothing.
That’s what I’m aiming for
in my sunroom.
To create something new,
it’s best, I’ve found, to do
nothing. Far niente, do nothing,
in order to
far qualcosa, do something.
Problems fix themselves
here in heaven.
Daydreams all have happy
endings. The dog in the poster
on the wall has found what
he was searching for earlier today.
Everything here is
va bene, going great.
I look out one of my
the pair of cardinals is having
a pie-eating contest.
A yellow finch is being
elbowed aside.
He gives up, wings away.
I pick up a pen, a piece of
lined notebook paper.
The first line comes. I write:
Heaven has fourteen windows.