Jerry H. Jenkins
© 1999

Archangel Crossing

Archangels are cobweb-thin; their hearts
pulse rainbows and auroras; they're demure
as mantises; they have no private parts;
their skins are woven skeins of gossamer.
They hide their voices in the breath of doves
and congregate in clouds. No one knows where
they travel. They're transparent, and they move
as wavering mirages through the air,
as tremors on the water, wind on grass,
or russet ripples in a horse's mane.
This, and faint thin sounds like shattering glass
suggest the passage of these diaphanes.
Once I crossed one's path, and I still feel
that stunning chill, like blue, bone-breaking steel.