Eight Angels Came to Me On Eight Nights
Each one told a story******
On the sixth night
a tarnished angel appeared
selling pencils outside the ball park.
We fired up the lights, stood staring into the fire.
What’s the miracle?
he asked us.
Light victory power revenge clarity purity
we hadn’t answered him.
Afterwards, he asked for a ride to the Metro Link
and maybe a couple of bucks to get uptown.
What’s the miracle? I asked him back.
Grateful, said the angel
— the miracle is gratitude
find that and you won’t need anything.
You’ll breathe into the souls of your feet
and live as long as you want to.