Every angel is falling—not like a skydiver
rushing toward reunion
but like a fish leaping above the calm surface of a lake,
entering a new universe of knives & eyelids.
Imagine being born at the height of your powers.

One rainfall & your chalk outline
disappears from the curb.
One hurricane and half the population
of your migratory species
vanishes over the Atlantic.

I don’t believe in angels, but I believe in their falling,
their helplessness against evil.
Nobody is watching over us except
for the blessed satellites, most of which
are in stable orbits.

We point our dishes at the farthest stars,
searching for any crumb of meaning.
Who but the most downwardly mobile,
undocumented aliens
would turn unjaded ears toward the earth?

__________

The first line is of course a riff on the opening of Rilke’s second Duino Elegy, “Every angel is terrifying.”