Angel, you live in the holy light
and we live in your shadows.
Please dance so your movement
lets a little light through
and I can see when the light glints
off my daughter’s sparkly halo.
I scrub the kitchen floor
and this corner is too dark for me to tell
if I got it Clean as a whistle—
so I may prove I have done nothing immoral.
Angel, thank you for folding your wings
and getting down on your hands and knees
to help me buff this linoleum beautiful
as in Cleanliness is next to godliness.
But Angel, you spread that darkness
over my shiny linoleum floor—
the shadowy shape my dog casts
carrying a dead squirrel to her dish.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney