ANGEL OF LIGHT
AND
ARMOR
I am kneeling at the cellar door, where the
slim light enters the room from some other
space. Living here, like this, as it's been for
years, I never tire of these special
circumstances : the angel that comes
to visit, the moving coat of frost on the
solid, lightened doors. I can scratch
things back, I can write the words
from another realm - a lit torch of
good intention, a lingering fire-patch
from still another distant Heaven.
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