The angels that you can and cannot see
float in and out of life so gracefully;
enfold in winged embraces one by one,
celestial comforters when day is done.
Some angels take the shapes of passers-by
so you might see the Spirit in their eyes.
A smile that lifts the day from the mundane;
a kind hand up, a loving act conveyed.
The unseen angels hover in the realm
where power manifested overwhelms
our common senses. There behind the scenes
they battle fears and reinforce our dreams.
Take counsel from a humbled man, once proud;
they only enter lives when they're allowed.

We attempt rescue, unable to bear
the stardust-coated dragonfly
beat, beat, beating
frantic on the glass.

We entice him to perch
on our extended lifeline-broom
nurse him in a box, where he flutters
quivers, lies quietly blue.

My son cries bitterly
as we place a minute cross
upon the dragonfly grave
while intoning our final goodbyes:

We honor those who have fallen victim
to this fatal architectural trap, lured
by skylights of enticing white-light death
and the paned illusion of freedom.

In admiration of winged determination
and perseverance in the face of futility
we carefully tend the fragile, curved bodies
lay them here to rest under the mock orange.

years of gauze-weighted detritus
swept beneath these ponderous shrubs
a reminder - what seems like freedom
                                                         ­           often isn’t.

And these things that we speak of shall be written on walls in our minds. Our graffiti. Terms that only we understand. For it is prophecy. A prediction of what is to come and a promise that it will be good. Good like revolution. And leaflets. And protest signs. Good like fires and flags. Good like anthems and marches. Good like songs on our palms. The sheet music on mine. The lyrics on yours. And music when they touch. So, shall we go? Hand in hand into the subway tunnels to the rest of this? We'll have the truth to keep us busy as we fumble for the next word and step. Awkward like children, dancing around fires. Foot before foot, until we match rhythm and run from it all. Because running away is as much my blood as poetry and red wine. And you are not only the journey but, sometimes, the destination as well. Listen to my hand on yours as I pray for peace while you sleep. The walls of the tunnel passing behind us as we forget who we are for what we will become. This will evolve. This will evolve.

Beautiful soul who writes beautiful words,
I fall in the gravity of your ravishing words,
I just want to reach your gentle hands this time,
That could bring calm to my stormy mind.

I am a sun and my love might burn you,
But really, I'm just trying to love you,
You're a star that's breath-taking to see,
I hope the last poetry you'll write will be me.

We dream under the same moon,
Maybe I have loved you too soon,
I want to hear you laugh and wait in vain,
Just to see how your smile stops the rain.

Please don't look away,
I have something to say,
My gaze do fall upon every flower,
You will find me there.