An Angel sits
right close,
She fits
into the space
where my thoughts knit
in the air stories and fables
and glories,
where tried and true stores
keep images warring
among themselves, pouring,
though Positive's boring a hole
through the soaring-once
Negative vibe.
Mighty is Her tribe.

And strength is looked over
by said Angel's shoulder,
my eyes and hands hold Her,
while sifting through gold dirt,
I find that I'm lifted somehow
through this gift that my Angel has
drifted here
despite prior denial.
Mighty is Her vibe.
How lucky am I.


Copygight 2007 Rose Loya