Cellophane Seraphim

vespers skirt the surface and dance

in the shine of the lens, and in the shadows of the eye

spiraling, a hierarchy of falling angels

suspended celestial sequences light the singular path ahead

the drone of a single frequency refuses to waiver

in the stillness found in the center of the night

there in the quiet and there still in the din

in what you didn’t say and in what she said you did

steeling to the coordinates foretold in half-forgotten texts

threads web and spin into a conspicuous display

a pretty pastiche of truth and truth-halves

angels and illusions taunt and decide to stay

lucid, liquid, languorous, yet frozen in mental-stillness

visitations by new principalities and archangels

casting spells on cowbells and seashells

guided by the old hierarchies and the new revelations

……and still I lost my way

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