An angel-less God

An angel-less God                                                                         

Into the snowdrift I fall backwards

to make an angel, but

gazing into an endless sky –

the stars’ glitter,

the moon’s silent shifting,

cold earth against at my back,

I feel suddenly under the thumb

of an angel-less God,

overwhelmed by the travails

and duration of my soul’s exile

and how many more

arduous journey’s stretch before me

‘til the promised quenching,

rest and reunion.  Then,  

You hoist me to my feet. 

God’s shape, You say, is this shape –

pointing to the impression

my body has left in the snow. 

O pilgrim!  Our portion of infinity 
spans but fingertip to fingertip; 

the duration of our vigil measured 
by the heart's brief, pattering flurry.

Union may be far away but, God is close at hand --
nearer than our own clouded breaths. 

O child of God, surely angels hover everywhere

in the realm of Benevolence Eternal.