Angels


by Pavel Chichikov

The beehive is the white Church of a meadow

On the southward facing angle of a hill,

White pine-wood the house, and at the front a portico

Where servants of a mystery expose their wings

All the acolytes of honey rise toward noon,

Translucent are their wings, the sun can sketch

The shadows of the veins upon the white wood,

And those who fly can hover and can fetch

Light from light, the sun transformed to honey

In many tabernacles is reserved, six-sided

Are the waxen molds, ciboria to suck,

And all are given nourishment, divided

Life and ritual, symbol and deliverance are one

For these unfallen angels, who must fall

Pavel's Websites are at The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov and Catholic Images by Pavel Chichikov

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