Seven minutes: My eyes have changed from gaudy kaleidoscopes to half-moons
There is an angel in my hair
who guides my fore-thought, my wisdom,
my knowledge of body and the pearls
that rest within it.
Enigma angels offer questions
and warn me of
my Pharisee tendencies,
my judgmental stance,
my narrow focus at the hem of
the Jehovah angel, who has sternly restricted my breath.
Have no fear for there are flowers, and the devil with the pitchfork
is small like a gnat. Mama Angel love me, make me feel loved and blessed.
Make my moon eyes trigger the flowers.