Deep within the soft twists of voices
the blessings from angels is woven within
the thorns of hearts, releasing a blessing
of sweet words like manna on sidewalks as
day washes over dusky curtains of
faces and shoulders.
There is no room for wings within crowds
where the language of the streets seeks the
weak while blessing the strong.
People gaze past the next corner, the next
door, the place they need to be to have arrived.
The words of heaven slip around moving souls,
finding little to adhere to while helping the lost.
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