angels dance in the inferno
of creativity
untouched by it's heat
just illuminated in flame
while I stumble through
a forest
with trees I couldn't bring
to life on a page
but Blake in his divine
madness
saw angels in the branches

my mother in law
lies on a gurney in a corridor
waiting for a bed
a limbo
between treatment and death
either way
the corridor clears
for the next contestant

Stealing my thoughts
are much more difficult
than the theft of my heart
Yes my solitude
shocked the thief
into remission
A second chance
are meant to last.