My angel refuses to be like the others
He removed his wings and is not on television
He’s a “he” which I find ironic
But then, to be spiritual in an age of religious
fanaticism is to be ironical
My angel leaves spider webs undisturbed.
He traces tears and claims salt from the sweat of pyramid builders
He has a droll sense of humor—he’s my angel.
I often think that if he were human, I’d marry him.
But his immortality keeps us apart. It’s such an old story.
As for now, I am grateful for his ability
to capture curses before the make their way
towards my soul.
after Nina Zivancevic