Some place,
between there and here,
is a silhouette
of an angel
with clipped wings.

& you can talk to it;
you can pray to it.
you can pity it
and you can spit on it,
you can walk on it
and you can cry on it,
you can forget about it,
you can ignore it.

sometimes you may stand
‘neath the tree that grows
there
and it will rain blood—
and it will thunder cries
the weeping deafening.

sometimes you may sit
‘neath the tree that grows
there
and it will be a clear day.
birds will fly
& they will fall;
& they will follow
their idol
into the shadows.

Somewhere
between us
lies a broken

man

fallen from the skies
and kept in darkness.

where are his wings?
do you know?

have to talked to him?
have you prayed to him?
have you pitied him?
have you spit on him?
have you walked on him?
have you cried on him?
have you forgotten him?
have you ignored him?

who is he?

have you asked?