apart

an angel apart
descending
to a world of waves
every mass of land
covered with boxes
homes and businesses
for the people of clay
fixed on their simple truths
and complicated lies
he watches them pair off
mooning their days away
trying in vain and vanity
to find what
they think they need
to cover the pain
of pairing and unpairing
of waiting to find another
snatching satisfaction
where it can be found
and it can be found everywhere
but never finding
peace or grace
though it surrounds them
and fills them
the angel helps
when and where he can
sometimes with a message
at other times with a memory
then returns to be
with his own kind

/ / /

This poem was written in response to Wordle 139 at The Sunday Whirl.