Along
the way to school there were angels
Watching
her from roofs or perched
On
streetlights, mailboxes, awnings,
Car
hoods, window ledges and alder trees.
They
weren't hostile, as on some days,
Seemed,
in fact, rather bored. One of them
Was
drying his great wings by gentle flaps,
Disturbing
the pigeons. Another was idly
Carving
the first fourteen hundred letters
Of
God's unpronounceable name
On
a brown shard of glass abandoned
By
a tattered crow, unlucky in his affairs.
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