Tag Archives: an angel

Bitter Tea Of The Days Of Youth

A soldier’s cap, maybe a SWAT cop, but on a slim

little elf of a Canadian Liberal, in Jackson Pollock

sweat shirt and ripped black jeans, de rigueur Converse

high tops.

She is the peaceful angel, tender prophet, wings all too

visible to my tired eyes as I dream of burning this world.

I cannot let go. I never knew how to forgive. Windfall rotten

and I cannot be like her, loving, embracing, A Child of Light!

She sits next to me at the airport bar, buys a club soda,

offers to buy a beer. She repeats back to me the words

in my notebook about the woman I loved, who was A

Shard of Eden, tells me they are so beautiful.

No touches. Angel cannot embrace humans. Touch in spirit

and dreams and minds and that place where we are all innocent.

She whispers in my ear, “You can make beautiful things. You can beat

that demon.” And then she pays the tab.

In red clay soil, in a place so thirsty for tears or kisses or blood,

something stirs up, an orchid at it’s mercurial best, made blue

and green, and it’s tea is bitter and warm, like days of youth.

For Her Distant Magic

Circus girl, in blue costume, with icy frills.
High above the ground, walking the tightrope.
She is serene and as unknown as an angel.
Her small feet walk without err or misstep, perfect.
 I watch her from the darkness, at her in the light.
Between heaven and earth she walks, flesh divine.
The air is without comfort, the fall without mercy.
She walks undaunted, uncaring, without fault.
 Spotlight on her, so high above, so far from me.
Her costume glitters, her face set, her beauty cold.
An angel of the air, she walks between worlds.
I, all too human, fall for her, for her distant magic.
 On the other side, once again mortal, a young woman,
she smiles at us in the crowd, and bows sweepingly.
I clap and cheer, thinking a love her, not her fleeting grace
as angel of the air, a walker between worlds, flesh divine.