poetry

how to walk amongst folk; intentional inexistence

an angel trips and falls
face first
into the mud
“clumsy me!”
rises (but not so high)
and lets the mud harden

and let us
the mud
harden

across the room, god
notices
lore
intentionality
love (not praise)
that heads have stopped turning
and exclaims
“why didn’t i think of that”

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