Wait
The
red-winged angel
is here to guide you.
Beauty
does not come whole,
but in slivers.
Searching
detail for detail,
flaws do not fracture beauty.
Age
devours age until release,
and then becomes the radio
of souls.
Count
on one hand the number
of times you have truly heard.
Countless moments spent
searching the dial.
There
is a beauty in such work.
Waiting for the broadcast
is everything.
Recognizing
the devoured whole,
the sliver of the wait
is spanned.
Age
counts untouched hands,
counts motives of the heart.
On
the path to angelic kingdoms,
roadblocks appear.
See
the span, vista to be
reached for and arrived at.
Bridges
take
the leap from lovers.
Jamming
signals
censor pain.
Slowly
turn the dial
wide open.
Wait
for
what happens.
©
Harley
