Passage


    You have seen the bumbling angels


    aroused in this house,


    my unintentional secret.


    Awakened by your night deep chill,


    they clothe themselves in our


    material possessions.


    They fashion arms from candlesticks,


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.make hands with matchstick fingers


    and assemble flammable, flowing, drapery wings.


    Their love of being seen, a longing


    to be consumed, is unbearable fire,


    but is little heat against the unmelting


    snow of time.


    Their new wings make


    only wind, no friction.


    They lack the presence of flesh,


    but their hands burn to rub together.


    All they claim is whispered passage.


    All they have is another''s old home.


    They keep our keys in their locks,


    keep us on our threshold,


    keep us from coming home.


    -Kat Isacson