We See An Angel

She says do not let go my hand

In the panpipe voice

She stole from birds

As if they were her sisters

I think, I think I’m flying

On taut string

The placate hills unreeling

We go sightseeing

Sighing at the sights we see

Sighting sighs

Oh so high

Sigh seeing

An angel, climbing, with new gilt

So bright the edges sting

Caged to stillness

A world cupped in outstretched hands

(Are we on

the world she holds

or is that different

to the one, in the postcard, scaffold free, where she is held?)

Scaffolding that makes

For sunfall birds

A presumptuous perch

Paper on the walls

For far places

Over bridges

With lip-curl corners

Lateling, the train chitters

To itself

In click-clack monotonies

Words displaced

In savage order

With the lull

Of houndstooth meanings

Home two translucent shapes

In a glass world passing