“O my soul, do not aspire to immortal life, but exhaust the limits of the possible.” -Pindar Pythian lii
I believe in little angels
although,
not those in Dante's Divine version
yet we all understand his grand design
poetry left letters lynched, hanging in his story.
I believe in angels
that are not molded from mortality
but leave tangible gifts
treasures we didn't know we wanted
like uncoveted luck.
I believe in bantam angels
that drop hints
and lift eyelids
shift the butterfly in flight
while waltzing with the wind.
I believe in angels
not as conspirators, or muses
I am not one of those poets, that would be insane
those who claim to hear voices
I believe in angels
that leave language to loons
whose call I understand, just as planned
like destiny's low decibel note
I believe in angels
that make time
to rescue, rally, recover, ruin, redeem, reiterate
remind us of what we must have known
already.
I believe the angels are our audience
listening to our poetry
reciting their favorite parts
while waiting for tides to turn.
Faith: “…a silent waiting on the truth, pure sitting and breathing in the presence of the question mark.”-Rowan Williams, Archbishop of Canterbury
Image of painting by William Closson (1883-1978) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
