An angel stood
and feathered my guilt
and helped build a hammer
to fracture my heart.
She made a collage of it,
My dreams, holding her
In confined paper,
The stars ...
I read her stars
And through black and white
With astrological applomb
I am hanged - once again
Fractured and corroborate.
Is she not for me?
Not now -
Not forgiving as angels should?
I will let her be.
I would have her clipped -
But she
Flies free from me, again
on my guilt-edged wings.
(with thanks to ex-Priest)
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