I am reminded in my question
By those who know my fa├žade
These tantalising exchanges
Brief as wind but hard as ice
That haunted my depths for days
These wings that hold me now
Are melded in fact that they perceive
Concreted into certainty
By many a watchful eye
Apparenty this archangel was
His hand was not an error
The hand that breezily drifted by
Flesh stained by the fiend within
I have difficulty believing so
He could not be walking my path
My garden could not be his
I still can't embrace the pollen
Though I am assured he was following
How can he be when he is what he is?
How can he be when I am what I am?