Angels

We think we’ve heard

Sibilant rustlings of folding wings

Doubt befuddles our hope

Faith’s certainties bemused by our rationalities

Oscillations of anxiety and desire

Turning between the two

We parade our glorious uncertainties

Desiring to be clad in our theologies

We wait with bated breath

As our tired philosophies collapse

And convictions fragment under aging’s glare

Sulphuric laughter of our stripping through cracks is heard

When mirrors draped in black

Hides our fissured nakedness

We wish through dark crevasses to hear

The silent waves of bending wings

We wish to hear

Angelic wings

Reverberating on tympanic drum

And there is silence