He was there a few days, just long enough for Sarah and me to grow fond of him, and for him to scare the crap out of Ethel.Â Now he’s gone.Â I hope he found a good home.
I am not a good man.
No need of a god to confess
that one to,
to offer penanceâ€”
passionâ€™s ashes and a spent bag of windâ€”
every godâ€™s treasure:
Another sorry old man
Or so the old ones say.
Not old like me, you understand,
but older-better, wiser, deader:
Eternal life, salvation, all of that.
Thatâ€™s not what Iâ€™m afterâ€”what comes after.
Iâ€™ve had a glimpse, caught a whiff.
That changes things, the small disaster.
Time is altered.
I have not been a good man.
Sarah and I vacationed in DC and took advantage of its many socialist pleasures like public transportation and art museums.Â Since I’m writing about angels, I went hunting in the Renaissance and came back with some interesting images.Â Check out the colorful wings on this flock:
My favorite, however, has to be this Nativity with the tiny angels just visible in the top of the stable, and an air traffic controller guiding them in:
I love this city.
Photographs of lightning, actually.Â One of my characters is a photographer.Â Isn’t this a beauty?