The station where trains
No longer call is filled
With angels -- tall, thin,
Tense. They look
Very like the ones
Stevie Smith drew. They
Perform no miracles but allow
You to use their sharp wings
To open cans from which
Soup pours out, assuming
There was soup in them
To begin with or some
Fleeing bit of Omnipotence
Muttered in passing
Let there be soup.
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