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Friday, December 3, 2010


Angels Fly Between
Branches of a Tree

Angels gather above trees
behind my home – I told friends –
do you believe me?
have my friends seen angels
between the branches of my tree?

In the morning I stand barefoot
grass sneaks between toes
wet from morning dew,
grown ups call it dew. . .they
say dew covers grass –
our cellar door – where I sit –
is wet, covered in dew.

I walk bare foot – feet covered
in dew – I wiggle my toes
wait for the angels to return –
wonder I could learn to fly?

I push my hair away
from my face – damp hair
filters between each
tips of my fingers -

a sun begins to peek
out from the mountain. . .
spreading orange into
a fog.

Now – stare at the tree
I whisper aloud - now
sparkles of light flicker as
diamonds – entering my
skin, my soul, magnifying
day – as transparent
as a sky of blue above me
as a sudden state of light
of different colors paints
the sky. . .

I tell people, “I feel different,”
but no one believes me – or
will they join me in early
morning when words do
not illustrate how articulate
a mystery is –

I know what I left inside
is a blank canvas, unpainted -
outside a sprinkle of angel
dust has unclouded my
mind –

So I wake up early each
morning to feel damp skin –
to wiggle my toes.

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