Dennis Maulsby

ANGEL

I watch the striated fire
of the Deity’s poetry
rush to fill the cosmos —

matter to energy, energy to matter.
I am for you, born an eye-blink
after the carnation-burst of creation

begun by Yahweh’s mighty shout.
Perched on His shoulder,
awash in coalescing rainbow gases.
My prism-dusted wings spread.

I launch from the Center,
rider on a ribbon of light
pushing a bow-wave of crystal.

Stretching through space-time.
I swoop along the curves,
wings mere metaphors. My hands
fold the crinkled fabric of time,

open past, present and future.
I am for you,
whose spirits have triumphed,
in spite of humiliation and pain.

Wounded Knee, Armenia, Auschwitz,
Cambodia, Rwanda…
marked by your ashes and bones.

Gathered in my apron —
your souls — sheaves of roses
to delight the senses of God.