Angels’ Request

I’ve got angels at my elbows

tapping on my shoulder

with such reserved delicacy

it’s no surprise I almost never know they’re there.

There’s an ache in the chambers

of the seraphim,

an urgency in their auras –

they have no fingers to reach out

with the tenderness of heaven,

no lips to kiss bruised and confused faces,

no voices to encourage others

to speak, and to listen.

They’re asking all day long,

with nervous benevolence,

if we’d please be alright with holding

messengers in our fingertips?

If, perhaps, it’d be possible

for us to crack open our souls

to let love run like honey over them?

Whether, provided we’re not too busy,

we’d allow Connection’s emissaries

to treat our flesh and bone

as a boarding house for the jolts

and pulsing waves of unbridled compassion

that push out into the sunshine,

where we’ve all been looking for it

so desperately.


Day 25: Dust in the Air

I’m enfolded in wings,

wrapped so closely

they could almost be mine.

Such a thin veil divides us,

sight and sound,

flesh and bone,

me and them.

Love is closer than my own breath,

more vital than my pulse,

more uplifting than flight.

How do you think parents

learn to care for their children?

It’s dust in the air,

invisible to us until

the light shines through it.

The string that links hearts

is who we are.

It holds us up. It aches for us.

And it needs us to remember.




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