Homage To Angels

One can find beauty within tragedy. One glimpse tightens your airway until tears bite at the crooked bridge of your nose. One can cease existence, if they believe, they can be endless. 

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I was once whole: union of poet and lover. I used to sleep, undisturbed, for entire weeks.

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I discovered that everyone tires and pretends to fly. I finally stopped reclosing my eyes. 

She is leaned up against the balcony railing, rusting. She is an angel, it’s … 
the press of her wing-like ribs like a misty handprint against a fogged pane.

Even when stained glass is cracked, splitting the space between saints, its hues still drip down the long empty pews–grief with fractured witnesses.  

Close your eyes and it’ll feel all too real.