Angel

I sat still 

so I could

consider the angel —

that rift of my daily perception,

that tearing away

of the predetermined

course of things

(the slowly wilting fading picture

with all its hopes diminishing,

its outcome possibly horrific

or ultimately, in the best case,

sad)

The angel was like

a ripping of that scene in two,

revealing, where the picture was,

a vast expanse,

a light above the sun

I had to stop,

for everything is different,

have to watch

to see how I’ll be led.

©Wendy Mulhern

June 30, 2019