Sitting with an Angel, a poem by S Francis

Allow me weightlessness
And I will drift into clouds
Seeking the wing of an angel
Whose feather once drifted
Down to earth into my hand
So I could paint tender skin
With the dust of a life
Finally succumbed to fire
Its spirit locked in lines
Freed to fly from ashes
So passionate, its flight
Like a dance of lovers
Still discovering
Little bits to die for.

A forgotten spot on the collarbone

Unscratched skin on the back

A depth of iris still needing swum

The weightlessness
Allows me to sit aloft
With the angel whose tremble
Shook free the feather
That whispered words to me
“You have to write.”
I had to write
Words that whispered back
Fly up from the ash
To discover fire that lit
Dry kindling collected
From the forest floor
Wandered alone searching
For little bits to die.

Completing the Angel’s trilogy begun with:
Angel’s Metamorphosis
Angel’s Honey Dust

(C) Stephen Fuller, 2019

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s