Monday, February 9, 2015


My friend is such that her better self
In striving to stay ahead of her
Has been compelled to grow wings
And not ordinary ones but vast things
All multi-colored like those Renaissance angels
Would wear when they went to disturb Mary.
Quite beautiful they are, but not convenient
For subways or walking the dog on windy days.
People startle from her, fearing she brings them
News of great joy.

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