Alight--
She stands upon the edge,
wings spread
against a cobalt sky--
falling.
Only another angel cast out
from the inner ring of the chosen--
or another devil,
wishing to touch the stars.
I never knew which.
Only that she was going to die.
The towers reach,
white marble wrought in the forms
of what we love
or fear ever to see again.
Then her wings fold, and she alights;
an owl upon the heights of Babel. |