The Eyes Are Her Nakedness

The angel, in the black bathing suit, covers her eyes
with the tips of her silken, white wings.
The eyes are precious, blue as the oceans
God moved over to form the world.
The eyes are her nakedness before a mortal,
the secret kept but for the spouses in heaven.

 The sharp edges of the feathers, soft and singing,
quiver in the cool, Atlantic breeze, like sleep.
I watch them, and know the prizes of seduction
pale to the trust of friendship and secret words.
I still see her mouth, her plain, pink lips, smile.
What is kept is the measure of devotion.

 The water of the ocean, the cord to the past,
the sky that brought the fire of life, therefore
the sacredness of death, to the light of the sun
in this world, where my angel shares what is free
and keeps what is sacred inside the veil of wings.
I love her all the more for it. I love the smile I see.

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