There Should Be Angels

There Should Be Angels

(“Why shall not the ministration of the Spirit be much more glorious?” 2 Corinthians 3:8)

If you would, God,
could we make a deal, God,
to switch out my brain for another?
There is less shine here
than I thought there would be here,
the days are no different, one cloud after another.
Nostalgia does me little good,
the ones who knew me well are dead,
and the one who live speak of light even after
the sun goes down. Me, I weep
and wish the chemicals that keep me lonely
would catalyze into a new solution.

We can predict the tides and decide
where the salmon will run.
We can predict the weather and decide
how the clouds will sound.
But these moods are feral and unbroken.

The weather is so thick here that you can
grab a cloud with your hands and put
it in your pocket.
My moods are thick like molasses.
The clouds will evaporate, my pockets will
still be dry.
But my moods stick to everything I touch.

Another friend lies sick with congestion
thick around his heart. More than brothers,
he is cranky the way I wish I could be. Between
crashes on his hawg and attacks on his heart,
his body is no longer his friend. So I will be his
pastor,
the shepherd to my pastor-friend. And wish I could

Make a deal, God,
to switch out his life for another. To see the
joy of the man who took me as his brother
a decade ago. To elicit laughter from his
agony and anger. There is less shine for
this holy one
when there should be angels sitting at his door.