angels


It is their wings that fascinate me.

I was never sure of Santa or the Easter Bunny and
yet I did so love the merchandise
so I held my tongue as kids do.

But angels?
It is preposterous that they not be real,
like a rock or a funnel cake is real – so real.
Too many Angels change weather patterns
which is disruptive but necessary.

Angels are so true that we sense them
and then express our surety in art
as a subversive move against science.
We sense them when we sing
and when we cry
at which times their wings flutter
in nervous anxiety.

Angels, I think are nervous.
They are always on the edge of
the trumpet blast for which they are
responsible in every moment
lest God stroll by
without a fanfare.

But God sneaks by them
like a game
to steal kisses on the back of our neck
when we are not aware
and then duck behind a
tree and lets the angels take the credit.
but I know it was God
because the mark it leave on my soul
pulses like the pinprick with my heartbeat
and I forget what I was doing and thinking.

Santa may leave empty plates and the bunny
may leave empty plates
both with leftover carrot greens and cookie crumbs
but God leave behind a kiss and the angels
leave the wind which disperses God’s
fragrance so as to not be tracked.

For this vulnerable, shy God we worship
would never get any peace and quiet
were we albe to track movement
and God needs to time to
make new forms of praying mantis
even though there are already four thousand kinds.

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