I sat still
so I could
consider the angel —
that rift of my daily perception,
that tearing away
of the predetermined
course of things
(the slowly wilting fading picture
with all its hopes diminishing,
its outcome possibly horrific
or ultimately, in the best case,
sad)

The angel was like
a ripping of that scene in two,
revealing, where the picture was,
a vast expanse,
a light above the sun

I had to stop,
for everything is different,
have to watch
to see how I’ll be led.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 30, 2019