Angels, a scattering of lit particles landing, slanted, on this moving stream
Of snow melt, and ice flow kicked up by barrel chested ducks turning upside down
Tails up, feet wagging, bright orange in the liquid black.
An angel there, resting in the dimples of a plain woman.
Not in the eyes, no—
On her simple face, which cradles
The divine in a rosy, freckled indentation upon it’s cheek.
And here, angels fly in block print, and shuffle among pages
Held between the fingers of a reading boy
Who learns about a wolf
And why it cried.
Under the rind of a tangerine, I see one;
It’s liquid oils spraying briefly in the air
Microcosmic scented fireworks.
And another in the beet that lays beside it on the cutting board
Leaking vegetable blood.
This humble root ablaze with
Earthy flavors and ruby droplets
Which run into the grooves of fingerprints and stay there,
A natural tattoo.
Lodged in the whorl of hair upon my dog’s elbow
Where all his spots, black and white, meet and spin
In a finite tornado.
In the tick of every clock and the echoes
Of the minds who thought of time
And gravity, of lightening bolts calibrated into globes of glass
And water which emerges from my sink
Nowhere near the nearest stream.
They are right here,
Resting their heads in the graphite of a sharpened pencil
Which will be used to sketch a dream,
And tip toeing along the edges of my kitchen knives—
Giddy with the possibility of falling,
Leaning down and gazing at their reflections
In the stainless steel.
I see angels all around—throngs and flocks
Of feathered wings and sparkling trails where they have been.
They roam in spirited, unruly gangs,
Leaving evidence of their chaotic love
In every known and unknown corner of the world.
Love elephant and want to go steady?
Editor: Rachel Nussbaum
Photo: elephant archives