Even angels without wings are too good for us

Feather by feather

my angels wings were

torn apart, plucked bare and clean.

What draws down

an angel from his clouds?

Certainly nothing

beautiful or good.

Is it his charges

singing electronic hymns?

Or is it the dance floor prayers?

Have you ever tried to hold the moonlight

between your two palms?

Or keep the morning dew

sparkling all day?

Then you'll know

nothing beautiful ever stays.

Well it did, for me;

today;

My angel lost his feathers

and they fill my hands

a million times over.