Angels

Angels appeared in my poems

long before they became

as common as lapel pins.  Once

angels were not so obvious;

they appeared to only the chosen:

Joseph Smith on the mountain,

Saul on the road, Mary at home. 

And there was the old man

in New Jersey who saw one

in the porch window across the street.

Angels, what is it with them? 

Once it was only a feather

dropped through Rilke’s Elegies.  Now

they have fan clubs, intermediaries,

blogs, profiteers.  They’ve had their divinity

brushed from their wings.

©2013