a handful of rubies, or less precious red gems, or glass beads, or pomegranate seeds
for another, who loves dawn and has come to fear the evening, is afraid of transition:
a hemmed up bunch of lavender, wound with silk
in a box under the sink is a collection of wings of all genera - moth, butterfly, princess of taffeta and toile, unicorn - next to the box a bag filled with shavings of hoof and hand, small discarded scraps of bone.
also behind these a quite large collection of silver glasses...
in the next room there is a thing that is waiting, in a dark room with a large body hidden in shadow and not yellow nor golden eyes - it is ominous but not unkind, it is looming surely, but it is not bad or evil or death or wrong - a large presence
and somewhere or imagine: a room full of letters, and all the ways angels are metaphors for communication - or the other way around, letters like metaphors for angels, dispersed - to bless and protect, and to keep company in an infinite in-between, past and future
in the next room there is a thing that is waiting, in a dark room with a large body hidden in shadow and not yellow nor golden eyes - it is ominous but not unkind, it is looming surely, but it is not bad or evil or death or wrong - a large presence
and somewhere or imagine: a room full of letters, and all the ways angels are metaphors for communication - or the other way around, letters like metaphors for angels, dispersed - to bless and protect, and to keep company in an infinite in-between, past and future