Angel in Flight

Spiritus Sanctus,
breath of the holy.

A spark of light dances.
I turn quickly;
see the after-image
of an angel in flight.

Angel of silence,
darkness,

watching . . .

Do you see
the shadows that cross my face
in an instant of grief, pain, seizure?

Do you know
when I am confused,
when I see and hear you
but do not understand?

A brush of angels’ wings
touches the air,
shatters my fear,
as a crystal grail
becomes a single grain of sand.
I wake before dawn
to see March skies
devoured by April,
long tongue of rose sky
lapping away the past
with no remorse, no goodbyes,
leaving as one earth
to watch the skies
for the inevitable changes
moving
across
the horizon.