by Pavel Chichikov
Gabriel stands behind my chair
Folding brown-blue wings to fit the room
Never speaking — seldom so aware
Am I to see him where he looms
He might as well be lightning down elsewhere
His deep green mantle, blue tunic reflect
The mother moonlight of a forest,
Penumbra brown his features resurrect
Compassion in my donkey soul, still blessed
Where pity and unfailing mercy intersect
I hardly see this God-created word
Who comes annunciating wonder,
Though I'm fed with chaos, watered
From a cup of rolling thunder
Yet to look behind me seldom lured
Disordered, deaf and blind with blunder
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may visit Pavel's website at http://www.greyowlpress.com.)
