, , , , , , ,

angels are swarming
angels from the past
they talk to me in code
and I somehow understand

this one spoke about
the boatman from siddhartha
and the beauty of his struggle
(as if angels ever struggle)

this other stopped to ask
for a compass, the drawing kind
(I guess angels need to draw
concentric circles now and then)

another told me he’d been
mistaken for a hooligan
(what’s a hooligan? he asked)

they’re innocents, all
though ancient in spirit
they’re earthbound now
dragging molting wings
if wings remain

but their smiles are genuine
and so is their joy
and because I’m on to them
they’ve started to swarm
swarm all around
speaking in a cryptic code
only I understand