Fallen Angel


My wings are singed from fire 
burning at my back, and while
I’m sure it soon will fade, still flames 
are licking at my feet, 
leaving me dancing in the moonlight
in the corner of the cave
where creatures breathing sulfur
live and die.
 
I lift my eyes to face the wind
and pour salt water on the pyre
that burns my soul,
while watching from a distance
as the smoke fills up the valley 
where wild flowers once performed 
before the gods
and then I turn my back, and fly
on damaged wings.

It’s like a race against the clock while flying
backwards in a gale and though
the mountain seems to grow
it gets no closer
and the storm is filled with ice
that shoots like daggers 
at my skin
and rips to tatters
my already damaged wings


november 2006