Cellophane Seraphim

vespers skirt the surface and dance
in the shine of the lens, and in the shadows of the eye
spiraling, a hierarchy of falling angels
suspended celestial sequences light the singular path ahead


  the drone of a single frequency refuses to waiver
  in the stillness found in the center of the night
  there in the quiet and there still in the din
  in what you didn't say and in what she said you did

steeling to the coordinates foretold in half-forgotten texts
threads web and spin into a conspicuous display
a pretty pastiche of truth and truth-halves
angels and illusions taunt and decide to stay


  lucid, liquid, languorous, yet frozen in mental-stillness
  visitations by new principalities and archangels
  casting spells on cowbells and seashells
  guided by the old hierarchies and the new revelations

…...and still I lost my way