The recently fallen angel sits beside me on the curb
wearing a skinned knee, a messed ‘do,
we are the nucleus of a circle made by the explosion of feathers on the pavement.
she-and-he complains of celestial injustice
her-and-his voice a whine sharp enough
to pierce the heavens,
the content like any other complaint
i’ve ever heard on any public bus
and i don’t hear it
instead my eyes drift to her-and-his
glowing perfect heart
also just like any other
i’ve never seen and never chose to see on any public bus.
26 march 2008 (dreamt)