Sitting on God’s Front Porch

I've never pictured heaven with a front porch,
or much of heaven really,
but it comes to me now
clearly.
There are no clouds.
Why do paintings always show clouds?
And so much light?
             I suppose upward means
clouds and light, but
up means the ceiling too.
Funny thing it is to picture heaven as
a house with ceilings,
God in the main bedroom. Or
does He prefer a humble life,
a monk's life, sleeping under
stairwell storage?
             Heaven is not a house, but
God does have a front porch, and
you stand on it.
             There is light, but it's more
somber than artwork, like a 
constant state of sunset,
and as you look out, there are ocean waves
reflecting only your sweetest memories,
then suddenly you're on it,
not in it, you don't get wet, but
your bare feet glaze the top like a
buoy with no tremor,
no worry.
             You sit down with crossed legs,
peaceful and full-hearted.
You're still —
waiting,
as you watch life on rewind,
heart swelling,
spirit swooning.
             It's all you are now.
Sitting on God's front porch crying,
smiling,
watching each wave
and every love,
waiting
for someone to tap your back
and come sit beside you.