What else

What else could love be but grappling —
depraved or lucid – with our angels?
In youth, mostly recognizable by the agitation in its wake,

we sometimes mistake this disarray for the active ingredient.

But perhaps with time, a refinement of strength passes across hands

and we learn how to surrender some stake in the struggle.

Perhaps the more we let go, the more like angels’ our writhing becomes.

We speak of innocence and greatness in the first leaves of the season, and in first loves.
As for me, I’m hoping to go gold with something
even more mysterious, more vast, and more like us, my angel.