Angels hear you when you pray. I hear them
in their singing when they sing of you, their
voices majestic wind chimes—Seraphim
surely, six wings in rhythm with your prayer.
I can’t tell what they sing. I’ve never learned
angelese—their syllables blending tongues
from Christians, Jews, Islam, all souls concerned
with petitioning higher power, sung
in single chorus. Still, in their joyous
messages I seem to make out your name.
I seem to sense how Virtues enjoy us
humans while their chants of praise spread your fame.
I catch the sound hands—your hands—their smooth angles
spread like gentle wings: envy of all angels.
Roger Armbrust
November 18, 2010
