A very small angel with a sword
No longer than a needle
Stands outside the gates of
paradise.
As always, the sword turns all
ways
Not only up and down and around
All points of the compass but
In directions which lack names
And may only be because this angel
Assumes they do. She
Is the latest of a long series of
angels
Who have died on duty or been
promoted
Or went walkabout one day down one
Of the unnamed directions. The
first
Was enormous but everything
Was bigger then. As do we, angels
Grow smaller over time. Some day
The angel at the gate will be
visible
Only to the eye of faith and only
When it squints or looks through a
lens.
No comments:
Post a Comment