Angels are almost silent
Subtle
treadbare steppers
subliminal stalkers
determinedly quiet
except at choir
a pair of cherubic hums
can equivalate
to the drones
of a billion bees.
Can you separate
the noises
of bouncing sparrows
on wet sands,
from belly-down
thin-skinned slitherers
roaming in beds of grass -
obscenely dense,
from burglarizing ants at a picnic party?
Angels are seen
since they come to visit.
Unannounced,
but friendly faces
beaconing
like lighthouses.
Their halogen coronets
fulgurate and exorcise
diabolical agency.
Other angels may be noticed.
An invasive host
shod in threatening boots
dangling peace and safety
but entangling angles
strangle.
Hopes
course
in descension:
brambles
boulders
ports of fire.
'I shall will' says the Proclaimed Self
when you know
it most certainly
won't
'Forever' swear the lovers
before they weary of each other
and pass with
sideways
eye
maybe there will be some
other times
looping mirrors reflecting
themselves
speeding light spread
ever along
the fire's fulgurate throat
stroking a woman's lovely
shudder. a room in Rome.
like Krishna
riding high
distinctly
satisfied
shadows within the
shade
the elephants may
parade
But, never,
no never
will they ever
clear the
stage
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