Gillie Bolton

For Elaine and Ann

An angel climbed through my window
this morning,
knocking my mask from the sill:
been to other bedrooms first
I think.

It folded me in huge wings
like a shell, only bone-melting
soft of course:
so I could get out
if I wanted to.

Not comforting - more like
thistledown needlepoints
thrilling through my blood.
Then it left by the door,
feathers brushing the architrave.

Gillie Bolton Wings have other uses Smiths Knoll 12 p40