WING

Melting snow reveals
Single broken robin wing
We fly in circles

WINTER VISION

A gray winter sky releases gentle snowflakes,
silence arriving on the edge of Sunday morning.
Sitting in my old red chair, I consider the fire
burning without, burning within.

The brush of an angel’s wings against my face
recalls the holy touch of one no longer near.
Closing my eyes, I deeply drink the vision
living well, dying whole.

Purple sunset celebrates the freely given day,
I stutter step as I near the marble sentinel,
unsure if a mere kiss will be enough to pay my fare
home , forever home.

(poem inspired by photograph taken by
and used with kind permission of Christine Valters Paintner.

Join her Poetry Party every other Monday at www.abbeyofthearts.com.)

DANCING WITH ANGELS

I danced with angels this weekend
and now I’m paying the price.
These geriatric feet are dry and wrinkled
and a crack or two on the soles
are making me crankier than usual.
But when angels appear,
take your hand,
and lead you out onto the dance floor,
I dare you to say, “No.”